The Problem With This Weather Poem by Belle Violet

Of course,
the coldest night on earth,
there's no one around.
Even farmboy's too cold
to get up and come down.
And I didn't ask him to.
Not sure if
I'd even
ask you.
The problem with
this weather is
it never matters
whether it's
actually
warm inside.
In winter,
I think
we're just meant to collide.
Body heat
warms a soul;
a good excuse,
is the cold;
well, gents, I'm not looking
to get tied to
your ropes.
I want him in Spring,
with flowers.
I'd prefer
daylight hours to you
waffling dusk dwellers.