A snow-covered hill,
Fat mugs of hot, sweet tea,
Warm faces, full hearts,
Nothing between you and me…
Cold feet and freezing fingers,
Slow walking or a mindless trot,
A journey, so didactic,
We’ll never reach the top.
The conversation lingers between
quick wits and bold haze
Admittedly, we’re dilettantes
of the machine, and all its ways.
Time seems more like space
When you are by my side,
I don’t notice its passing,
I don’t recall life’s diatribe.
We were cut from the same stained cloth,
It’s all the same, we’re the esoteric,
The original never-looked-for,
but the I’m-never-lost.
Living in opposite corners of the same brain, freed
We frolic in snow past the tall, white trees,
Remaining through trials and seasons,
The very best dichotomies.