The falling snow fits on the distant trees,
like hands that mesh together to form one.
I hate the snow, I hate the cold, the leaves
that drip, with melting mess, so all alone.
Don't talk of hands or love or lips so sweet,
My heart which hates the snow is lusting for
the cold. It is too soon for me to meet
someone who pushes me, to take shelter.
Or so I say, peculiar thoughts in mind,
because it's less simple than I pretend.
I fear to look because of what I'll find -
a handsome man I only call my friend.
I close my eyes and lull my heart to sleep,
This feel is not love, will surely keep.
No comments:
Post a Comment