Marcus Golding


The Longest Winter

On Algid days,
the pale spectral of memory casts light through the shadow in my mind.
Warm exchanges spoken, emotions shared
They Escape this wintered soul and settle gently

For a perfect instant, your beauty Blinds, I am with you, and I want you.
You take my hand, as you guide us towards our new lain sheets,
Then Somehow I lose your hand
And we lapse when I need you most

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