the Bundle

i wrote this about a man who loves the cold and lives too far away.

If I could,
I'd bundle you up in a flake of snow
and send you North
from the blow of my rough skin you will someday find yourself
sinking in.

What dreams of chilled touches you so long for.
I see a burning flame inside your stomach
flooding a foggy dense forest
that waits quietly for light to peek it's head in and say,
"hi, I'm holding on for dear life."

Your dear countenance I behold,
yet have not noticed.
Except for in a fleeting moment I made up,
which is not the point.

The point is, my dear,
the point I am so scared,
to the point where I could bundle you up,
send you South, and say, "Enough!"

But I will not.

So, the point:
the possibility that I wandered into the wild,
blinding my eyes with foolish smiles and fleeting cries,
to touch the soft ground I found cold.

A light snow had fallen and I was cold.
And so lit a match - the fire revealing a foggy dense forest
that said, "hi."

"hi. I'm holding on for dear life."

to which the forest replied,
"I'll hold you for dear life."

Author's Note

is my writing hard to understand?