Love on Sunday

It is the February night
wrapped in a thousand

blankets, it is new snow
falling and wine in a ball jar,

a room ripe with music,
a bathtub full of reflection. It is

the way fire rises up
and up to become

the air. It is the weight
of a body. It is an answer

without a question,
a reason with no

reason, it is tears
falling into still water.

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