Winter is coming
I'm open for the snow
The cold whisper that settles on the skin
and gently covers the mud and the concrete
My skin prickles in anticipation
of how the sharp air crives the ice into my skin
and my breath rises to the clouds
My feet expect the creaky give
and the soft fall of steps
I want to pick up a handful
and fling a snowball from wool-mittened hands
The cold whisper that settles on the skin
and gently covers the mud and the concrete
My skin prickles in anticipation
of how the sharp air crives the ice into my skin
and my breath rises to the clouds
My feet expect the creaky give
and the soft fall of steps
I want to pick up a handful
and fling a snowball from wool-mittened hands