Moscow, love, me

I was a girl

hiding beneath fir trees,

imagining my breath was enough

to satisfy

the greed of time,

giving me a cocoon where I could live

in pressed bliss forever.

But this man,

breaking my soul

with his cerulean eyes,

lay next to me,

so beautiful,

so deft,

I wondered,

How can god imagine something

so impeccable,

all other creation

becomes unworthy.

Even encapsulated in

winter afternoons,

wound up in warmth

curling through words

dancing on fingertips,

time and space became

inadequate,

crunching dimensions

together

until we writhed like serpents,

spent

beneath the covers,

knowing this was all there'd ever be,

the rushing fall from suspended grace

into panting humility...