Longing for Warmth

I read the words
of Alice Fulton,
“Daynight, With
Mountains Tied Inside,”
and so much of it sings
like notes in music
without lyrics,
but still,
how I understand
the words
and how it is
as I sip this dark roast
too late in an already
too hot
mourning your figure
who haunts me
like a ghost
longing for warmth,
that as I write this
from a coffee shop
somewhere in Florida,
it’s as though
the night lifts
and it suddenly
dawns on me,
that maybe all this
longing is just me
ovulating,
and it’s this body
I am wearing
who reminds me that,
“oh, yes… you are
very much alive.”

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2 thoughts on “Longing for Warmth

  1. Vinny Lanni says:

    I love how your words are both a poem and a conversation story. So, so good.

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