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Description
It is still commonplace for two wooers
in love to gambol through snow, and
not far behind us, we would, and we’d
slash at the static of lovers in woe.

Our silence creeps like treacle: slow
but relentless, with just one virtue -
patience. It surges and swells,
as though pumped by some bellows
of whispered torture. It billows and
shrieks and calls to my cavity,
shawls of insanity swathing
my heart, tremulous in its cage.

The calm, prudent blizzard, it
lingers in sweet undulation,
but dares not approach, encircling
our own coliseum, with ushers
of ice in the stands. They roar and
they scream and they cry for a winner,
and I, the beginner, swaying in my
madness, am forced now to yield.

A self-control, my heart has learned
through bitter goodbyes, and though
your lies rest safe in the hazy past,
I once conceded in your eyes.

Description
It is still commonplace for two wooers
in love to gambol through snow, and
not far behind us, we would, and we’d
slash at the static of lovers in woe.

Our silence creeps like treacle: slow
but relentless, with just one virtue -
patience. It surges and swells,
as though pumped by some bellows
of whispered torture. It billows and
shrieks and calls to my cavity,
shawls of insanity swathing
my heart, tremulous in its cage.

The calm, prudent blizzard, it
lingers in sweet undulation,
but dares not approach, encircling
our own coliseum, with ushers
of ice in the stands. They roar and
they scream and they cry for a winner,
and I, the beginner, swaying in my
madness, am forced now to yield.

A self-control, my heart has learned
through bitter goodbyes, and though
your lies rest safe in the hazy past,
I once conceded in your eyes.