Condensation

January 15, 2014 § 1 Comment

the moon is cold on my fingertips

like an icy bathroom

when the steam shower is turned off 

and all that’s left are

chubby clouds of condensation

floating

finding mirrors to cover

in a silk veil of frost.

 

the moon is cold on my fingertips,

as I touch the window between us,

letting my blood-heat

warm the glass

until clammy.

 

a lick from the air,

a rain drop from no-where.

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