December, daring to dream, thrusts itself into existence

The wind perhaps is most perceptible when we speak of change,
blowing empty thoughts to keep my glass refilled–
somewhere, someone’s heart beating for me, cares.
And when I sense you must be there,
my pulse quickens–
I would’ve followed a prettier road but that would’ve left no chance
of meeting you,
trickling slowly down the shaft of an incense candle
is indecision,
or what’s left of it really
I would’ve clung to familiar things had the prospect of appearing false
not occurred to me.
Ah, what then broke through? What once was sewn with a needle–
Perhaps my lips have always hungered for the taste of danger,
of metamorphosis delicately coating my tongue,
you know I do, don’t you?

 

 

Photo credits: Marta Bevacqua, Drifting down to the ground

Posted for Midweek Motif ~ Changes @ Poets United