I do not tensely know how the falling snow looks,
Nor am I at all a subject of the Earth’s fatal pull,
But I can recognise a heart in the midst of a decision,
And I will yearn for the truth despite already knowing it.
I sit atop a scraping bannister, resenting my own nature.
If I had the integrity to fall, it wouldn’t have
Presented as possible, and so I will sit, my legs dripping
Over the edge, as if to tempt the pull to tense.
This is all to say that I miss you,
With torn eyes and a flash of something hallowed.
I will walk my own frame of mind, hurt
On a moving pedestal.
This is all to say that I love you.