Snow Angels


Winter-moon, bright hole, punched

through to whitelight heavens, only

light. No solid mass of rock and dust.

Chalkboard stripes mark lucid arcs

crosshatched across a blackboard sky,

drained of colour, earth’s cold cover,

patched and mended quilt, white-zinc

to ink and all the shades between.

 

You shared your plan to take me

in the snow and I, your willing cohort,

artfully attired in mink-grey-fur,

lace stockings, carmine wellies…  wait.

You make your way, the whitening sky

weighs heavy-laden, ashy, finally

releasing it’s glittering confetti. First

it covers your path, later our tracks.

 

Sole sound amidst the deadened silence

I hear you. Lust-flushed, I rush out

to feathery flux, wild chaos swirling.

Embracing. Hands. Skin. Mouths. Hair.

You almost take me there in the deserted

street, legs wrapped round you tightly.

We run riotous, laughing, into the garden,

and make snow angels while we fuck.

 

 

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