A Time To Love, A Tendency To Obsess Poem by Abby Tweed

Razor Sharp
And dressed like the wind,
You stood before a frigid window,
Gently patting the freckles out of your hair.
Pacing steadily
With long, spindly fingers,
You reached into a plain nation with a foreign tongue;
With little regard towards my eye's wintry glare.
I was there,
Existing in a land of brick and mortar,
Leaning against the glass portal to your outside world;
Watching the breeze tickle your wind-breaker,
And pondering the bite of warmth amongst your cold air.
Why sir,
Smiling slowly,
I do believe your insecurity denies my inquisitive stare.