Pluto
Rebirth
My love for her is that of spray paint
on abandoned factories
with cold lips
pressed to a bottle for warmth.
It stays forever,
a statement of what it is to be
an artist.
The tag,
In blocky text,
reads:
"Winter: things end,
thing are born”
Like something you say
as you flick a cigarette butt.
From here the sun has no light,
So we look slowly toward another source.
And the end
comes like winter,
wrapped in a lifetime of love.
But the perfect white snow,
hints at sunrises long gone,
and those yet to come.
