Cold

Downtown light glistens in snow.
Cyndi Lauper orange upon a blanket of white.
I feel footfalls crunch behind me,
and pull my coat tighter.
Not against the snow.
Her voice, at my side,
is asking me why.
I hesitate. . .

Turning much too soon
she walks away much too quickly.
I answer,
knowing she will not hear.
"My love for you has grown so cold
the snow is like summer rain."

Love is a void, penetrating sealed spaces,
stealing warmth,
depleting self.
Love is a virus, invading the nucleus
of body and mind,
until coldness
breaks the fever . . .

and you see Cyndi Lauper city lights
reflecting in the snow.

---

back to the poetry page