Warmth.

Sometimes our breath fails to exceed the

Constancy of a stone stair--

But rarely, and in poor memory.

Our stair, after all, rivaled the ethereal pitch of

the sun, one time.

You could have said, "I love a cloud"

or

"I love the sun you pretended to ignore."

But you didn't.

You looked--the brim of

Your mistreated guarantee had been overcome.

Someone mentioned stars, and you gave in.