When the air turns
cold and I behold
a plume of mist
with every breath
it brings to mind
the thrill I would find
each time you entered
my door
I sought your lips
and they were
cold as the very air
you closed behind
Your kisses sweet,
a frozen treat;
soon melted in the
warmth of my welcoming
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem