heart is not a linear matter

he patiently sits

 for me to melt and ease;

as if his affections were made of heat 

and steel. in a letter, this week, he wrote

how he lives and memorizes every sight 

of kisses that my lips once planted on him.
life may be cold he said but until the
 yellow flowers live in that Japanese porcelain

he shall without grumbling wait. 

wait for breath and stars to fade.