January, During the Warmest Winter Ever
My hand bushes against his elbow,
that bony, unloved part of his
I have never kissed,
and we succumb to our hidden ferocity,
this new growth willing to bloom
even in the deepest shades of winter.
His lanky arm I graze like a tourist
forgoing the mainland
for the southernmost point
with its snowless Christmases
and year-round foliage
I am always visiting
yet cannot call home.
How voracious my craving
for the places I’d never venture
Happy Sunday Scribblings everyone! This poem started with a kiss and then took on a life of its own. I'm still figuring out what it means.