That fog was a wet sock,
Shoved deep into their mouths.
A cold day and a bundled heart.
They choked on wasted words,
Words that would have spilled out,
Had the sun warmed their lips.
The frosted park of leafless trees
Sang silence in a tune too quiet.
They walked, feeling every stone unturned.
The simple scarf she wore,
Just a pretty noose around her nape;
He would have kissed her there if he knew the knots.
His gloved hand was a fortress,
Tucked and tightly hoarding heat.
She found no invitation at that leather gate.
As they walked in the mundane,
Surrounded by winter’s mystery,
They both longed to run back and kiss with a summer sunset.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 2:45 PM UTC
That fog was a wet sock,
Shoved deep into their mouths.
A cold day and a bundled heart.
They choked on wasted words,
Words that would have spilled out,
Had the sun warmed their lips.
The frosted park of leafless trees
Sang silence in a tune too quiet.
They walked, feeling every stone unturned.
The simple scarf she wore,
Just a pretty noose around her nape;
He would have kissed her there if he knew the knots.
His gloved hand was a fortress,
Tucked and tightly hoarding heat.
She found no invitation at that leather gate.
As they walked in the mundane,
Surrounded by winter’s mystery,
They both longed to run back and kiss with a summer sunset.
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