Firewood

It is a sunless morning,
For there is only silence
Where the sound of your voice
Should be.

The grey of the sky
Is not that of the landscapes
Which, like you at heart,
Are enwhispered by
The slightest bit of fog
But distinctively beautiful.

I feel drawn towards
The complexity of your mind
And the simplicity of your demeanour,
As well as the warmth
That emanates from
The tone of your voice
Whenever something pleases you.

The warmth of my heart
Would suffice for two
If yours ever grew cold;
I just need to hold you
Close to where life
Lies so fragile
But beats with strength
Towards you.

It is a sunless morning,
And I regret your absence
Like the lack of firewood
At the only campsite
On a snowy mountain top.

4 thoughts on “Firewood

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