this morning
this
cold
morning, i thought
lessly slipped
my
hands into
your
gloves
the purple ones
do you remember?
the purple ones with that un
identifiable creature
stitched
across the tops
the purple ones with those in
finitesimal
spots
along the palms
do you? can you?
remember
slipping, i felt your
fingers,
your chubby, chunky little
fingers,
always so cold
always so warm
squeezing so tightly
around mine
then they were gone
but
you
stayed
as you do
as i thank the un
known, name
less
gods that you do
in the echo laughter
the imprinted smile
and the in
discernible
pulse
of
your
blood
in
mine
©s rogers 3 november 2010
