To be told it is time

when I step outside of here

my head no longer glued to this

and strapped to the edges of things

or even fanned so that cool words

having more to say than water

clinging in desperate droplets

to the idea of winter

imprint themselves here

I will be alive and well

and you’ll remember me

for the years it took to explain

the way in which you took your toll

on the everyday

selling short for your own kindness

things that could have

seared further into your belly

or your heart or mine

watching the flames’ tongues dance

in new formations speaking

clearly it is not for you to say

I will think later

that I am right in this

and from there your words

will open like wings

or like the lips of a wound

a flower which holds

so much fragrance

that it makes tongues speak

catching their words

in a kiss forming waiting

to be told it is time

to be told it is true

you don’t have to come

you only did and no matter

it is simply a need

solitude craved for nights on end

in which you burned for this