Poem 001

Poem from a series of poems I've been writing one a night.

Chilled, crisp, flat out cold air
enveloping our bundled forms
as we play act like John Wayne
slowly, with purpose,
letting our breaths escape
to mimic in a puff of crystallization
it's carcinogenic twin.

Warm, soft, still bundled
I lay thinking and musing
over what dreams may come
during this sleep of life
that tickles on the edge of consciousness
as small thoughts balloon out
to fantastical worlds
where impossibilities are norm.