Sweet Roasted Chili

Wren Greyson

Photo by Craig Adderley, from Pexels

There’s a yellow hue tree outside my window,

Glistens in golden sunlight,

Extending limbs, and I think of her.

Cold air washes in with thrown-off covers

And I wish for glued arms of hers to my waist,

Pull me back into bed, an unspoken request.

My scarf and gloves put on this morning

And I hear her voice, “Please stay warm!”

I breathe the hearth smell of bread, gives

Sight of her fingers attending

To the twilight taste in my head.

Humming to myself, pouring my first cup of coffee

To listen to her half of the music

Threaded through bubbling water.

I walk with the storm’s breeze to class

And hear her in a friend’s laugh,

Like a guest taken residence

For two bridged lovers.

I smell a waft of cigarette smoke that lazily hangs,

Settles to my view alone, shade in her form.

I must scarcely write this all down to remember

Because my thoughts can’t bend far

Without cresting over her.

She grew in my mind closer than my own thoughts.

She has blended with my body

Closer than my own breaths.