In the dark after words my cloudy breath
wandered four slow hours.
An icy fern crawled the bedside window;
its fingertip entered mine and grew inside
like doubt: first one thin spine then more,
then fractal buds, curled fists
ready with an urge to freezeframe thought.
You slept through it all, one arm curled
around my glassy form.
Perhaps this time I will not break,
wake more than less in touch.
re-visioned December 19
image: the bohemian gothic tarot deck (lovers)