Our breath poses as fog.
We chat about the love
we’ll bemoan we had
in a couple of months.
Three months minus
fights over Christmas
no more, no less.
Give it three months,
and we’ll part ways.
My lips touch ashes,
the cost of falling
into the sincerity of her
alluring, peppermint kiss.
I’m sure it’s a fluke
that she unplugged her phone.
Her tone speaks over endless texts.
Texts declaring her love for me.
It’s been five months.
This is love.
(© 2022 AC)
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