Pressure Poem by Alex London

Hands forced together,
vicelike. Forever
Your Breath pours from flowery lips and, in frosty tendrils
That twist and turn through the coral air, fall in glacial rills.
Fall down to earth and join those that lie
In wait, refusing yet to die.
With Rose comes brier,
But your thorns lie well hidden
In the void of silence between us.
You the wedge and I the hammer.

We walk in the evening
Amidst the patchwork of fields.
The pieces fit, green in the still air.
Our heads support the blue sky that sits
Quietly, adulterated by leaden blemishes
Resting solemnly above
A white no-mans-land.
The sun beams an icy smile.

On my back like a perfect anchor you rest with ease
As we move beneath the shadows of trees
Standing to a skeletal attention in the autumn chill.
Soon their dying leaves must spill.