Signs of Affection

In the vague light of this dawnlit room
 With tender feet a spider brushes my brow
 She longs for the warmth and all the blessed things
 Long since gone
 In their stead
 A starlit void to take us in
 Unsullied altogether by a single city's light
 The profound silence of the woods
 The strange serenity of these hollow homes
 And those of us that remain able to provide
 Each other these signs of affection
 The perfect brown egg fresh from the coop
 A crumble sweet, a mound of berries black
 A warm cup of tea second to last in existence
 A slight touch of gentle confusion
 Of sorrow, of compassion, or risen from rare tenderness
 All the more fragile and bittersweet in the dawning awareness
 Of how little there is left to possess
 To share
 To sustain
 To nurture a forlorn thread of hope resting in the cup if one's palm
 Not long now
 I suppose the wind
 Shall kill the last of flames
 We've run out of things to burn and devour
 Will it sooth us then, in the end of all things
 To gently grasp the hand of another
 Slowly growing cold