Winter is in your hair, and I am afraid. There is no closing this distance. And so I watch from here, rooted and frozen, In love and yearning.
My words prick, don’t they? I am sorry. I don’t mean to be so cruel. Your embrace is the only place I’ve ever fit in And yet, I have more searching to do.
There I go again, Chasing flowers not mud; Should I hold you responsible for my condition? Perhaps yes, of course yes, and I am grateful.
Such a spring-killer, a monsoon to beach hour; I took it all for granted; Your sweetness I devoured. I love you, and I am grateful.
I want to walk slowly with you, And not be a different man when you look the other way. Too often my mind wanders into places where my body cannot follow, Please help me not think any more.
Because I have been obsessed with immortality, That prolonged notoriety, To move the earth And gain admission to the dead poets society. I don’t want to die once more.
So when you depart, Take with you my greed. The truth is yours is the only faith I’ll ever need.
But you’ve let time into your cheeks — What a disgrace, I am in your hair and I am to blame For the snow in the foyer, the crystals on the window frames. I froze the lake and all the plants outside, So thank you for loving this little snowball of a child.
