Winter's March
Winter marches south
blanketing the world in frost
every time you turn to walk away.
Volleys of arrows from
your eyes stop the sun
from thawing out my hands.
The words roll from your tongue
to he seas teeming
with aliens, buckling
my legs as I sleepwalk on deck.
The gates slam their iron
spikes into my side as you
push away with hands pink
as embarrassment.
The birds fall from perches
in the clouds, tumbling gracelessly
when you close the door
behind you and the
doorknob burns my hand
as I try to breach the house
you’ve set aflame.
The conflagration spirals upward
and the searing current takes
you home, alone.
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