Come This December

I have no memory of winter’s cold breath
where I am not tangled in white sheets
and feuding with the air.
my
soul
belongs to the seasons.
An exchange with a lover
has done me much good
but I fear for her comfort
when my heart beats in intervals.
Come this December,
my brain will be throbbing.
It will crack the frame of my skull
and I will go mad.
Will
you
love me
when I’m mad?





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