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Seasons without explanation
April 21, 2018
His hands are cold ice with winter wind in the evening. He quivers as hot flashes of frozen words hit him. Touching hands, but not holding, his anger is thunder, he speaks breath of fire and ice. He reflects the form of love in his eyes, stares quietly into the snow. Dull dusk with plastic hearts. Melted chemicals pulled like puppet strings. Mouth closed, silent thoughts speak. Dumb looks, like stares into my heart. Paper thoughts with no form at all. Lead runs through my veins, heavy as snow. Magnetic hearts with opposing attraction.
© Ariana R., New Orleans, LA
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