I speak so loudly and in anger but you do not hear me because in anger I will hold my thoughts like breath hoping, needlessly that you will see and hear my wrath;
Tired, dry, sick, and yet the snow has never stuck so wet instead, it rains or snows and melts forget the muck the pain is felt without the Winter to deflect us.
A kiss to waver all contempt away, a lovely flavour that no flower could convey. To pluck its petals, like the strumming of a lyre, a song, ephemeral but the loveliest of choirs.