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In which it is for the seasons


Baby, it’s cold outside.

The wind is whipping my hair
against my face.
The tip of your nose is red.
My hands aren’t young anymore
but they are tucked into
your pockets.
Baby, it’s raining outside
and there are flowers appearing
everywhere I look.
You are humming under your breath,
I am keeping step with you.
We are far away from where we started.
Baby, its hot outside.
The sun is in my eyes and
I don’t wear bikinis anymore.
Our babies are in the water,
their eyes are bluer
than the sky.
My blood is running slow
and thick, kisses are languid
and warm.
Baby, the leaves are red and orange.
Another year passes and it’s 10 years now
since we started
but somehow
we haven’t run out of ways to make each other
laugh.
The cotton sheets are worn
and our mattress has a valley in the centre
where we meet every night.

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brian, poetry
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