The mountaineer is of a different nature
He is sweet but stubborn
Leather laden and rigid
Made of brass but easily broken
Commands flow from his wrists
His mind migrates
Beautifully and elegantly
Like a bird
Or perhaps a whale
Guilt guided by instinct
Unlike him
I am unkind
To life, thoughts charge
In one icy breath
Striking with a cold flurry
Immediately regretting my decision
to hurt him, I retreat into a dream
Only to be awoken by the sound
Of ice avalanching through his rib cage
And forming snowflakes at the corner of his eyelids
His concern
Is expressed with a digit
That scales the summit of my slumbered limbs
Perfect fingers fearfully climb ungrateful
peaks
And decline with flawed expectations
For this mountain is impossible to conquer
Difficult to reach and
Rewards nothing but insecurity
Mission: Not to wake
Rather: Mapping a route
Of unharmed snow and gravely paths
An expedition over cold skin
That is halfway in a dream
Words fall
like hailstones crashing
desperately seeking a place to land
Stumbling over icy breath
They cut deep below the surface
Surprisingly
from the depths of this chill
My words are softly pillowed
Not by the snow of my own making
But by his empathy
Or perhaps it’s sympathy
Falling silently
And melting in the warmth of understanding
Heat Bubbles to the surface
never quite reaching the summit
And we stand
Mutually bearing a weight otherwise not shared
By one who lies dormant
and another who coolly stirs
I vow to never fully waking up
And he vows to never fully let go