Facing Forwards

A rushing blow of smoke and steam, This trip it roughens, Cuts they bleed

The cold air sharpens me like a vice, The metal frame glazed and sparkling white.

I remember well in times now past, What the smoke and steam and glaze may cast

But I see now that I missed the point, Which me, or I, obscured from sight.

Smoke and steam, Frosted white dream, Gliding on a razor’s edge

And though with love, with pleasure, comes fear, Love’s deep abyss draws me near

And I’m facing forwards back to you.

The cold air bites, My fingers shake as my hand it writes

But my jet warm vapour trail, My billowing pluming tail

Comforts me in the cold, Facing forwards, Bold.


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