Winter

 

winter-2

Whimsical wither–

the last leave of our tree

has fallen.

 

Among the sterile air

of flaccid dreams,

I await for her return.

 

Yet, I’ve cried.

After every evening indulging

poisonous nectar–

 

bottled hope, bottled feelings.

Lost within frozen voids,

never again to be with her.

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