Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes

Tickling Frostbite

Your laughter was a new language to my ears.

accented with the flair of your grandfather's grandma.

the pathway to the front door rippled with bursts of joy.

although no door knob turned the wood shook.

cracking open two small inches.

I stood there, one eye pressed to the slit.

watching you watch me, the sounds of sunlight froze upon our fingers.

glowing icicles of frostbite frosted the tip of my nose.

melting under the boiling bubbles inside our bloodstreams.

overtaking past the edges of reflexes more of a instinct given to women.

The sounds coming out of my mouth piercing rings to my ears.

tickling, turning a bright pepto pink. 

catching on fire with a marshmallow burning.

I learned your laughter fluently,

each sound of your alphabet. 

the melody of your exiled words.

rhythm kept in time by wrongs of your traditional doings. 

dirt among the clouds of crowns.

ground into the metal dulling it's shine but never the value.

somethings we are happier not to learn.

the laughter of your language the dementia to my joy.

forgetting how my grandmother's grandfather born me to sing.

which is a shameful miracle, that this second of this day, I don't regret learning.