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Dec 2016
Last Winter.
Coldest when its bitter letters
stuttered on the lips of the sender.
Someone told us that love
was the only thing that’d ever be enough.
The first and the last thing to feel.
I remember it’s moans that never came from wind
the snow that never arrived
the frost that hurt my fingertips, resting feet in someone else’s shoes.
The winter that we only just made it through
by the skin of our teeth, slid in through the doors-
I’m recalling this all wrong.
Last winter was a storm that didn’t end
and unravelled around us, a perverse blanket
that was never asked for.
We never asked last winter to come.
Martha O'Brien
Written by
Martha O'Brien  UK
(UK)   
303
   Keith Wilson and ---
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