The snow sheets have blood drops,
down the legs of trees,
over snowy skin--cardinal hops.

The high bush's shrivelled cranberries persist
five striking berries that the sparrows missed,
arterial red above the snow,
pleasure buttons bright with hot lick.

I see the striking red, in the snowscape, in the trees,
same  hot blush on my winter lover's cheeks.

And as it gets colder, snowy skin,
is ravaged and pinched,
by hawk of red shoulder.
and inside, my tongue crosses over,
from white ******* onto red areola.

Such hot wintry throbbing,
is bouncing red breast of robin.
I wish my naked lover to never leave,
and the ground to never soften.