**** frost's barbwire grip on branches
glitters in the scathing glare,
I wondered how I could see you through the blue sky,
but there you are
breathing like a dragon,
heaving heat into my heart
from the centre of your lucent sun;
We, close enough to burn (again).

I lean to kiss your pulsing lip.
Only, you turn away... cold,
indifferent.
Hard to tell
in negative degrees
why you came here with me.

And as snow begins to fall (again),
dusting hair
caught as flecks on eyelashes,
eyes specks of blue, sparking
wild... fiery,
You disappear in white:

                   Always easy to deny
                   the season's change
                   when you linger in a past.

Come summer,
I still remember the taste
of your sweat upon skin,
your scent sensually
fast in clefts of flesh,
or hung in hair...
Remembered that taste on lips;
There, I alone once permitted to kiss.


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­By Data © Sept. 2024