Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2013
Winter leaves a trace of frostbitten memories.
Don't speak to me of spring,
without closure.
A winter romance is not a summer fling.

When I ask her for warmth
she hands me a dying man
who won't make it through the season.
Chloe Sayre
Written by
Chloe Sayre  NJ
(NJ)   
575
     Rhodora, Chloe Sayre and Timothy
Please log in to view and add comments on poems