Signs of Affection
In the vague light of this dawnlit room With tender feet a spider brushes my brow She longs for the warmth and all the blessed things Long since gone In their stead A starlit void to take us in Unsullied altogether by a single city’s light The profound silence of the woods The strange serenity of these hollow homes And those of us that remain able to provide Each other these signs of affection The perfect brown egg fresh from the coop A crumble sweet, a mound of berries black A warm cup of tea second to last in existence A slight touch of gentle confusion Of sorrow, of compassion, or risen from rare tenderness All the more fragile and bittersweet in the dawning awareness Of how little there is left to possess To share To sustain To nurture a forlorn thread of hope resting in the cup if one’s palm Not long now I suppose the wind Shall kill the last of flames We’ve run out of things to burn and devour Will it sooth us then, in the end of all things To gently grasp the hand of another Slowly growing cold
Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 26, 2025