but you’re impossible to buy presents for.
Maybe I’ll give you the sequins of sun on snow,
and the frost roses I scraped off my car this morning.
I could write you a note saying how nothing lasts forever,
but look how pretty temporary can be.
I could give you a magic chocolate factory,
with a flying glass lift and grass made of sugar,
because nothing’s ever as it seems,
and every problem looks small when seen from above.
Maybe I’ll get you a home made jumper,
so big it could house the Russian circus.
Hopefully, it would remind you to always dance,
even when it’s Jan Garbarek on the radio.
No, I’ll give you a kiss like they do in Peter Pan.
An acorn on a string,
soft fingers on your chest, messy sheets,
and quiet voices,
in the dark.
I knitted your cat a scarf for Christmas,
but you are impossible to buy presents for.