of mountains and pebbles

Hold me in soft silence,
read my heart aloud knowing
that every beat is painted in
your colors.
Let me come undone with yearning
Where there is safety in longing.
My breath is a warm sigh against
your skin and love is the ember we
hold to our lips in the quiet of winters unfolding without the thistle of war or
A bind of garland about our feet,
the tender loosening of ties, of
mountains reduced to pebbles.


Olga Beliaeva