Stained Glass

To the north wind I whisper,
“Come back”
and it blows through dry leaves
—gasping for an answer.

To the southbound clouds
I wring my body to give you
everything I couldn’t before.

I remember the morning
I pressed my face to stained glass
and watched our fingerprints
glide through prisms in the dew.
I was never a morning person

until you.

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About Ry

It's so magical, it's gay.
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