Fate

Frostbite on an open flame,
Perhaps that is our fate,
To bite the pain, swallow it down and love the ways of its rage, its screams, our sound.
How you feel sinking into my skin, beneath it cohearsing in my veins are the words I have never uttered in more then touch.
I know you feel them, each syllable, the cursive slop that rots our roots.
Fragility opened to the promises in your stare,
The weaving rain upon our heads out of rythmn with tired hands.
I refuse the loss of footing under pressure.
My head is heavy, I am not to carry the baggage, no yielding wand.
Only the ear beneath your arms.