The snowdrifts still cloak the exterior of natures *****; an impediment to the absolute euphoria that romances my soul whenever I am able to savour the enchanting glow of a incandescent burnt amber sun,
in all later months.
The wind, however vicious with its long lashes of seizing air currents, whispering through the crack of my window, straining the chimes in a chorus
of improperly tuned instrumentals; it all coincides with the atmosphere,
my dear.
I swear I hear voices in the streets, faces in odd places, arms around me as
I sleep. I ponder over what you type to me, as I lay within my sheets. You are just so different than any I've seen before; a teacher- oh! a gorgeous professor,
to you I am a chore.
Petite, little me cold as can be ...
searching for a wee bit of company. Take a coffee or a tea and stay for a while,
write a song with my name in it
and make me smile.
Teach me the lyrics, and I'll sing the harmony. Strum through the hammer on's
& pull offs, let me take over the melody. Evergreen & blue eyes, we stare into one another for eons,
absolutely mesmerized.
Yet now, you are deaf not blind.
For you never hear my soul, each time you recite a verse.
You- the distant temptation, and this dreaded February curse.
Always the same around this time of year.