Malcolm Gladwin

As Love Nears, Winter Answers

As Love Nears, Winter Answers

I do not greet the day with arms wide

no 

I flinch from the light.

Love... is a slow knife in warm skin

and I, already frostbitten,

tuck my longing beneath coats of silence.

 

There is a chill behind your eyes.

Or is it mine?

Perhaps I’ve worn winter too long,

I don’t know how to thaw without drowning.

 

You came with a look 

like spring pretending not to hurt 

but I smelled the snow behind it.

Felt the avalanche between your ribs

and mine.

 

I wanted to stay.

But want is not warmth.

Want is a wound rehearsing trust

then backing away when breath fogs glass.

 

I am not made for soft hands.

I am made of doorways and drifts.

Of hearths I never lit.

Of letters I never sent.

 

So I leave before I feel.

Before the blood dares run hot again.

Before love comes too close

and finds no fire here.

 

I tell myself

it’s better this way.

To freeze quietly

than to burn

and beg

to be held.