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Ice on ice
Octobers were fading yellow leaves.
Petite is auburn in twilight sky.
I know of nothing that reprieves.
Time paints its own reply...
Novembers were scheming like feathers on doves.
Iciness a visitor I find unrefined.
As exquisite as can be she loves.
The disquiet of gravity and ecstasy left behind...
December’s blizzards were counting the weeks.
They chilled and thawed again in successive manner.
In my nights alone my old bone squeaks.
Within sight of shuffling spirits, no plans left to make by the planner...
I stay awake sleep will not come.
Ice on ice, my frost exposed.
