I've taken your hair from under my pillow, Amber.
a thin ginger thread of a timid glow.
I clenched my fists and found my chamber
half-buried in snow.
you're still living here, I can't deny
if I only could.
for you in my head all the blizzards cry
from all the Norwegian woods.
my honey will kiss and it'll stop to ache,
but nevertheless.
I know why sometimes mere trifles make
me walking on broken glass.
I know that your footsteps now must have lost
in the ryes.
but night is still looking inside of me
with your eyes.