Snowflakes from the fluffy clouds
Covering the world in ice
Falling fast, impressing crowds
Ignoring the risky price

Snow melting on your rosy nose
Making you freeze and sneeze
You put your scarf so close
Standing in the cold breeze

Snowballs crumbling down your neck
Your coat and boots already wet
Blushing after a cheeky peck
Accepting the cold you’ll get

Outside the world turns brown
Dirt mixed with the white
No snowflakes falling down
Though still the world is quite

Books and pillows in your bed
Reading pages after pages
Handkerchiefs beneath your head
Until it’s over it feels like ages

Stars are actually snowballs, constantly being thrown at each other by the playful children
that are the Old Gods.
Planets are ornaments
that adorn the Christmas tree
in the center of the Solar System.
One of them has a floral pattern,
one of them has the British flag on it,
and one of them, I think, is half-shattered, only held together
by the holy adhesive that is tape.
The meteors are popcorn garlands,
that we popped the other night.
Now they're stale and flavorless,
so we decided
to decorate space
with them.

Since it never snows here
let's put down
these imaginary snowballs
of defense,
my love.

Yes, already the icicles
are melting
from your long hair

and I'm thirsty enough
for you
to drink the woman-flavored
broth
that puddles at your feet,

as soon as my own iced blood
begins to pour long
and again,
like a hundred pound sack
of salt
pouring through one pinhole
of flesh
into your savory broth.