My winter comes

less than 1 minute read

My winter comes

in folds of skin,

embracing sins,

in stormy skies,

and grays of eyes,

in a blurred, hazy

face, through a

frosted, misted pane,

in cackling, flickering

flames and hushed,

silent names, in

parched, cracked lips

against burnt finger tips,

in low, dreamy sighs

over cold, frozen ties,

in slow, swaying toes

on crusted, crisp snow,

in warm, dewy traces

within whispering,

closed spaces, in

‘twined, tangled

shapes amidst hidden,

veiled escapes, in

snug, singing smiles

across forgotten,

forlorn aisles.

Leave a Comment