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.

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