Sensing Winter - Poem by Lori Boulard
Menacing clouds join their hands above my head,
tearing me from the arms of my lover, the sun.
Trees shoot their annual fireworks display,
silently signaling the beginning of the end.
It is then that the selfish corner of my heart turns angry,
batting its cardinal wings against the coming cold.
My bones and skin echo the sentiment,
tensing and writhing against its touch.
Meanwhile, my love gathers wood for the fire,
pulling the season in as I push it away.
He speaks as a child of crunching footsteps and trees of glass,
as if sweet summer’s hue was green only with envy.
Then, slowly, my thoughts' eyes close and my body finds its breath. Snuggled halfway between hot chocolate and cool jazz,
Feeling somewhat guilty of betraying my sun,
I yield to the touch of winter’s hand once again.
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