You are the virgin landscape, and I am a bird, and there is a sky;
Your arms stretch like a goose down comforter wrapped tight across my home town,
Filling crevices hidden in forgotten forest hide-outs, slickening the roads I grew up knowing would someday serve as my paths for departure,
Your warmth is one which is felt from the inside; fireplaces and heavy sweaters and hot tea,
On my skin, you are cold, but on my feathers, you glisten.
taken out my bedroom window.