He's cold;
Biting at the fingers
Hunting for the exposed skin
Turning it to ash
Finding sin
Nipping under the coat
He's winter,
And I witnessed the downfall of
All of the floral pieces under the sun
Watched them bend and die brittle
Dried and limp with frost
On the tips of its vanity,
Those that would cure she and he -
Wow, she
Flying in a sky filled with hazy poppies
Trailing her kids along to
Jumping fences over heartache
Inside of a globe filled with pain.