today we are
trapped within a
pageturn; a
distant memory of
sorts, like a
transition from
dead to
alive,
once
again.

february's sun
broke through the
promise of march
(rain)clouds, the
sky a clear and
calming blue. we
held each other
beneath this canopy,
living,
breathing,
feeling.

(this is a cycle;

this is your touch
making me writhe,
a natural process.)