My love,
he's always there, even when he's not.
I feel his presence in every snowflake.
I taste his lips in every tear.
I hear his heartbeat with every crack
of frost upon my windowsill.
He tastes like
strawberries and sadness.
The Spring broke his heart
and now he's broken mine.
Encased it in ice to claim as his own
never knowing what would come later.
I've always fancied doomed love
but never
Fire and Ice.
Never something so
masochistic.
He thinks his chilled words
can soothe the painful flames engulfing my innards.
What does Winter know of
Summer?
There is always a season to keep them apart.
He cannot know he is breaking my heart,
threading lines of ice through a cracked and aching vessel.
The rains of Spring are only the tears of
Summer,
weeping as I watch the last of my love
melt away.