perched as birds on a branch

in the tree, we sleep surrounded by mist below and the tiniest qualifying snowflakes above, hovering much like our relationship status on the freezing line

upon the mountain the night passes, swaying us in its canopy; the flame flickers against the silhouette of your singing nose I breathe in the nourishing of the pine; there are no other sensations I wish to feel right now.

the alarm is assessed as having no real urgency or agency on which either of us wishes to act. our gaze exists, unbroken there is essential expression, this crooked sideways dance in view of the mid-trunk of the tree

I can see my feet pointing its toes together, far above my brow, and on the left, your mouth muscles line the limits of your face; you are furious in your touching.