Menacing clouds join their hands above my head, <br />tearing me from the arms of my lover, the sun. <br /> <br />Trees shoot their annual fireworks display, <br />silently signaling the beginning of the end. <br /> <br />It is then that the selfish corner of my heart turns angry, <br />batting its cardinal wings against the coming cold. <br /> <br />My bones and skin echo the sentiment, <br />tensing and writhing against its touch. <br /> <br />Meanwhile, my love gathers wood for the fire, <br />pulling the season in as I push it away. <br /> <br />He speaks as a child of crunching footsteps and trees of glass, <br />as if sweet summer’s hue was green only with envy. <br /> <br />Then, slowly, my thoughts' eyes close and my body finds its breath. Snuggled halfway between hot chocolate and cool jazz, <br /> <br />Feeling somewhat guilty of betraying my sun, <br />I yield to the touch of winter’s hand once again.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sensing-winter/
