michicant // bon iver
_____________________________________________________________________________
I drive with one hand on the steering wheel,
and the other clasped tightly
around Ella's hand.
The snow falls
in heavy patterns,
pelting the windshield
with tiny feathers,
gently caressing the glass,
quietly chilling the air.
She looks at me and grins,
I see the highway lights reflected
in her dark pupils.
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"You'll see," I say.
The wipers moan softly as they
sweep the sorrow away. Ella hums
on passing clouds. I squeeze her hand tighter.
We continue in a pasture of white,
counting the footprints
on our hearts.
YOU ARE READING
twelve tracks
Poetry“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche /// (c) mockingjayde 2013 (c) respective artists and musicians.
