a maelstrom approaches
and I think about you now,
how we hunted for shadows along
the spine of the world
(thinking we’re in love)
carving stories of their fading — as
we caught them — upon
the thin sheets of ice.
i miss the sunsets in faerun,
and how your eyes sometimes reflect
the forest verdant.
and these were times, frost-iris,
when the ice in your eyes would melt,
birthing rivers in the the covert bloom
and i melt in turn.
unlike the world,
flowers do not discriminate, no;
not the water lilies for weddings nor
white roses for headstones.
— A. P.