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  Jul 2018 Michael A Griffith
bex
Oh, Winter...
She says, “Come hither...”

She is an alluring *****
with her pure and virginal whites,
chaste as an egg.  Mm hmm.

Her flash frosts,
her intricate, fleeting diamonds,
her dew when she warms
drips and drops into ******* spears...
She pulls you in.

She pulls on you,
draws you,
milks you to the core.

She whispers “Come hither...”
in her squalls,
but she leaves only shells.
Such small feathered things,
stiffened and dead,
touched by Winter’s hand.

But she is beautiful,
and you...
You can not help yourself.
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