Colours Of February Poem by Sam McPherson

Her words hung to frost
in the Moon-white air.
There I fell,
steel-cold in their presence.
The allure of longing
a familiar solace
only February bring.
​
Her tongue empty,
bent to hiss all the shapes of
unripe promise
that burden green on a winter tree,
behind torch eyes
that bleed memories
down to the wick.
​
I could lend ear
never tire of our solitude.
Or how snow beds a home
where good deeds could not.
​
I yearn for the colourless sun,
where streets not blushed pink
from summers lick
but wind cuts brick grey
and windowpanes orange with laughter.
​
For in such black months
we birth anew,
flowers breathe colour
to dead roots
and the busy people
calm to a welcoming halt.