the violins play without sound
and the trains sing like they're made
of cut paper promises.
The daybreak winter landscape
would be better edged in fraying silver snow,
but we're wrapped up in soft light under covers
and the posters on your wall
shoot whispered smiles to one another
they've been watching all this time
and laugh at us,
muddling our way through this thing
that I'm wanting to call love.
perfection personified, that's you.