Purple

we weren't even close to fairy tales. but

your hands clasped in mine felt like satiny silk

on a wedding dress made for

this warmth that pricks my heart full of

blood and oxygen that tastes of you

every second I think

this is the oldest I have ever been

this is the youngest I will ever be again

this second is gone                      this one too

tell me I cannot drink the air;

yet the smoke on the horizon curls like a finger,

inviting me to taste February in the wind

and know time is running out