I lace my fingers
with the snowy night
as I rest upon
carmine linen and lilies,
my hand out of
the window,
wet snowflakes caressing this
open palm of mine

with heavens I speak
of slumbering spring and
your name and how
both of you see
my stars, my peonies,
yet you
hide yours from this
open palm of mine

I lace my fingers
with the snowy night,
for I am weary
of you and winter
my hand out of
the window,
wet snowflakes soothing this
open palm of mine