12 Kisses

My life is a house
standing barren upon a hill,
windows thrown wide
and curtains bare
to sharp winter winds.

My life is armor,
silver and cold,
shimmering in the moonlight,
hollow of purpose,
glistening with tears.

My life is waiting . . waiting . .
until you are again in my arms,
or I forget what we knew:

children playing '12 kisses'
in the back seat on a spring afternoon.