It was winter, but that didn't matter.
Because you kissed my lips free of frostbite and lended me your umbrella of flesh and bone to keep me warm.
The warning of dark weather means nothing when you, the sun, are granting me the sunlight for my flowers to bloom and the drizzle of rain for the soil of my body to richen.
"I can't stay awake any longer," I would whisper, my head laying on the cusp of your tortured seasons, a spring of vibrant colors crawling down your palms, the pale of tundra cooling your touch against my skin.
"Then don't, my sweet butterfly. You are safe here, now and forever. Sleep, nothing will wake you."
