i suppose this is my poetry day poem

the long winter of a night
fell fast

splintered
 between days

she was a puzzle of black hair
caught tween almond thighs

writing furiously
i try and solve
all her knots

but the tangled thicket
only gets worse
as i explicate inward

each new locket
of secret information
is restlessly torn apart

yet the intimacy
seems less and less
every year

until standing naked
in the mirror
it is suddenly clear

our love letters
are of a single soul
obsessed in itself