Winter’s Dance


Winter’s Dance.
The icy rains of winter, like sparkling drops of blue diamonds and clear glass, once toyed with my youthful imagination, while the numbing night winds would goad my heart into ever-tightening circles of warmth and human desire (ah, to be older, richer, loved).
Winter’s Dance.
Those tiny shards of rime now offer up only blisters and white torture, reminding me of the cocksure endings and concrete losses just ahead. But freedom yet encircles my anxious head, as I dream, still, both broadly and well (ah, to be younger, wiser, loved)

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