You

You befriended Nonchalance when
You met me,
Through the song in a conversation
That had run into my cadence’s amalgam.

I wonder, I seethe, and I smile
At your refusal to see me through
My knit of words.
And that, through which you see me,
I refuse to accept.

Yet when the music dies in
The pitch of the night, and the
Cold desert wind sets in, I see
Your words warming me.
I open my knitted world
And let you in.