open the vent.
spirals of wispy smoke curve up into my pores,
the quiet clamor of the winding breeze bounces upon its echos inside the iron.
encore.
again, relive it again.
the sunlight cascading through the front window
creeps in slanted, sharp angles across the floor, reaching for my toes.
an illusion of warmth; the shadows of summer spread at my feet,
an overlay of quilted smiles, intwined fingers and the taste of strawberries, wild.
a mosaic of barefooted bliss-the sun that stained your skin, the rain that soaked my hair,
the light pressed up against your shoulder blade.
in the subtle silence of this empty house,
a rush of resolve.
open the vent.
feed the flames and watch them thrive.
it is winter now.
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