If…

if…

the word

rose eloquently

from the curl

of your tongue.

stumbling

snow sphere

on the steep slope

of my harried blustering.

mass and momentum 

microburst,

.

blasting the future

from my grasping hands.

icy pyroclastic lightning

struck me home,

.

home 

to body-self,

home to now,

home to you,

straddled not

 saddled –

time.

.

and 

Love

breathed

through

the open

 space

.

if…

.

© M.G. Iannucci 2017

Photo: Mountain Night

 

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