the lowercase collection—winter

it isn't cold enough to think of you yet.not enough chill to wipe away the innocent blushfrom my cheeks as memory and guilt combine,taking the shape of your eyes.maybe i'm romanticizing again.maybe it's my medication losing its holdas your face becomes brighter in thevery back screen of my skull.innocent red. the color of my cheeksand the color of your fingertips when youbrushed against my leg when we were seventeen.the most delicate of flutterson my leg and in my heart.it's still fluttering.  image via *