Roses, and roses, and roses

Still thinking of winter?

No, but it is winter.

I am thinking of light

lighter days, golden embraces

warmth so infinite it spills out onto the kitchen floors and marble countertop.

I am thinking of steam

that forms a tornado above the rims of a beloved and hand molded mug

round, and round, and round, it goes.

I am thinking of pages

untouched and unwritten.

I am thinking of time

wrinkles and grays; and years, and years, and years from now

I even get flashes of creases

that hide and unhide decades of laughter, worry, and milestones.

I am thinking of roses; and roses, and roses, and roses.

I am thinking of kisses and smiles; and kisses, and kisses, and kisses.

Matter of fact,

I am thinking of yellow

like the feeling that wraps around you like a silk scarf

like honey that is way past yellow, it is amber.

I am thinking of white

like smiles, crooked and a little dulled, but still beams; again, and again, and again during conversations.

I am thinking of cream

like ice-cream that creams, and melts, and makes a sweet and sticky mess of my brown and black hands.

Winter is almost over.

H.A.