How did we get here?

How did the same dove which brought us a sparked spirit take away the love and hint me into the dark.

To the mercies of the cold winter winds and the shadows of elongated twigs.

I am cold out here.

But I can’t say same for you in there.

How can you be in- behind the door and I- out behind the same port.

How did we get to stand behind the same door but poles apart.

How did I find myself out here at the frosted side.

I ride my hands on the bumpy slides and realizing it couldn’t touch yours at the other side.

Slapping my hand to catch your shadow behind the pane.

I claim sane but then I caught nothing but a mist-drawn reflection of my own face.

My mistakes and your err.

How did I get out here?


I am cold out here.

I am cold without your arms as furr.

I am cold without your brace and your care.

Let me in, I plead what’s fair.

Let me in before I loose my soul to the dark shade of the outside’s scare.

And before I fall to my knees to a pleading call, let me ask three questions and no more.

How did we get here?

How did we get to the other side of love?

How did we get surreal?


Asford Psalms.

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