By Ashley Niedzwiecki
Lips form the words
I always thought
seemed cold as the night
air in winter, but they come
from a place inside where
it is warm as any day in June –
springs trickling playfully
at dusk as the warm
and gentle breeze stirs up
honeysuckle thoughts, and cherry blossoms
gather in a pool along the bank,
the knuckle on the hand of Mother, passing
sweets through metaphorical mouths,
so I just let the words form in
the warmth of a seemingly cold Truth.
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