It Could Be Warmer, Love, If I'm Honest Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Ice on windows, static as dead feathers
That is how I see our lives, love, right now.
Yes, it's still beautiful, love; it weathers.
But it could be much more; it could be snow.
Piling up at the door, it could be clouds.
Whirling in the mountains, forming rainbows
Could be the place where white-water rapids joust
Where the trout wore spotted waistcoats.
It could be those unblemished dewdrops.
Be those tears of laughter when love was strong.
And pure, like bubbling spring-like sutras
Read in medieval times' condensed song!
It could be warmer, love, if I'm honest.
Be more affectionate, as you promised.