The Still Before Spring.

The soft wind runs amid my fingertips-
it pulls my face into it's kiss
and then retreats into the world-
I find the similar salt that sits on my tongue
I long for you.
In minutes that span to days and fold over into years
I am sitting in the same spot under the same sun,
Holding the same breathe you left me with.
I find it gets easier to remain dead.
and after a while
maybe I will decay into the sweet moisture of the earth
and remain here in the time where you loved me.
The time when opportunities were still unopened
like a spring bud-