The wind
blows my curly hair
into my face.
It rubs on my coat
causing it to static and frizz
and stick up on end.
Ugh.
The wind,
it bites my skin.
My lips go numb
and my quick tongue slows.
I hate the cold.
It’s bitter and unforgiving.
It holds no mercy
in its hole for a heart.
I hate the cold
but there’s something there beneath it,
something that pleasures
and warms my skin.
The wind
it hugs?
underneath it's cruel bite.
I hate the cold
but there's something underneath it,
buried in the snow and frost,
you'll have to dig to see it.
Oh, great, it's cold again!
but what's that hiding behind it?
An indiscernible figure
behind flurries of snow
offers something
...but what?
What's that semi-sweet scent
under the fighting cold?
I hate the cold
but if I tell you that when we talk
I shiver uncontrollably
don't take offense
because I hate the cold.
The wind is bold,
the snow, it rolls,
my small body shivers beyond control,
but there's something there beneath it...