Oct 2018
All’s quiet and
still,
sky’s pregnant with
snow;
every flake, a lake
of ice—
every footstep, a false
echo;
the moon
beamed
upon the frozen
few,
the streetlamp
schemed,
and begged me
to kiss you.
still,
sky’s pregnant with
snow;
every flake, a lake
of ice—
every footstep, a false
echo;
the moon
beamed
upon the frozen
few,
the streetlamp
schemed,
and begged me
to kiss you.
