I want to still the blinking fragments, 
ones that time will want to break apart, 
like ashes and snow swirling through the faint 
cold sigh of every January wind.

I could keep you so close to me, 
cling to seconds otherwise edited or stolen 
by memory's shuttering lens, 
none of the narrative would be lost or 
translated into unreliable histories.

We'll be to remember what soothes one another, 
what gives us flight when the fault lines below
split open and we fall together, 
everything about us becoming a sprawling tapestry, 
predestined instances of meeting lips unfolding.

I want to still the turning pages, 
ones ink may try to scratch out and scribble over, 
the sound like leaves helplessly dragged along pavement 
in the steady cold sigh of January wind.

While we wait for a world to grow again, 
regenerate the beauty that once was.

I'll always keep you close to me, 
cling to all the moments I want memory's lens 
to preserve exactly as they bloomed before us, 
none of the translations could ever be blunted, 
never lose the potency that courses the rivers 
in me pouring into oceans to meet you.

We'll be able to remember what keeps the other safe, 
able to touch and live each precise frame again, 
the microscopic moment I knew your touch for the first time, 
your form a tapestry of predestined embraces waiting for me.

I want to still the spinning reels, 
clutch the sensations sewn together 
in seconds of light and motion 
weaving through our souls.

While we wait for a world to grow, 
while I kiss you in the faint cold sigh 
of every January wind.