I wonder if he remembers my face
as I’m pulled into the building of his current life
on a stretcher, my left leg bleeding openly
a superficial wound borne out of carelessness
in this foreign land I now call home.

Those flames licked the brick walls of its chimney
so eager to fly high into the cold evening
as I heard my friends laugh away the hours
and he sat there refusing to meet me halfway
but I saw fire burning inside that mountain.

Years have passed where we last glanced at each other
where we kissed as the sun rose above the clouds
before I sailed across the sea to another home
only remembering his face in passing conversation
although the memory distorts itself with time and space.

I stare at the ceiling wondering what I’ll do
before he comes into the room and looks at me
nothing registers between us until night draws in
and we open our eyes from our dark corners
and meet again for a cold winter’s love.

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