**** frost's barbwire grip on branches
glitters in the scathing glare,
I wondered how I could see you through the blue sky
but there you are
breathing like a dragon
heaving heat into my heart
from the centre of your sun;
We, close enough to burn (again).
I lean in to kiss your pulsing lip
Only, you turn away... cold,
indifferent.
Hard to tell
in negative degrees,
why you came here with me,
And as snow begins to fall (again),
dusting hair
caught as flecks on eyelashes,
eyes blue, sparking
wild afire,
You disappear in white:
It's always easy to deny
a season's change
when you linger in the past...
Come summer,
I may remember the taste
of sweat upon your skin,
your smell, coyly
folds in clefts of skin
hung in hair
tasted on lips
I alone once permitted to kiss.
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By Data © Sept. 2024