A tease, cold hearted, she thinks she is enough.
He warmed me, he melted me.
Every minute of love- was a crack in the ice, every laugh
a tear rolling down the frosty shape- falling down my cheek.

It was a puddle, an icey mistake,
A sinister piece of modern art-
He threw it over me,
Smothered and splattered in my broken heart.

What are we,but children wrapped in time and still patience,
ascension of duration and climate and colours.
pretty circles, spinning infinitive,past street lamps,dim glows
bright against cold darkness and steam from mouths hesitant
to speak in chill. Tight scarf,arms clamped possessive against chests,feet shuffling
the awkward Autumn dance to walk fast,walk away,walk wild
against chapped lips,goosebumps and clear air that pulls minuscule hairs
and airs. And childhood reminders,bonfires and gloves and bright red cheeks,
posing as memories for yesteryear and pumpkins, grotesquely shaped.
Not great,
not perfect.
Perfect is the sodden leaf,swollen with rain shimmery in the gutter, simultaneous steps. Nostalgia,the creep of the wind against windows shut,home an escape, the fire flames flickering in eyes wide for wanting.