Late July

Residual but persistent,

like woven wings on nocturnal sprite,

winter’s nights pour down ice and cold,

on finger tips and tongues,

cool droplets form on rosy cheeks,

still pale pink permeates the fairytale fog,

vapors rise from warm skin,

mittenless hands embrace,

standing face to face,

eyes illuminated by the muted power of a forgotten moon,

thoughts of cocao, soot, and beads of sweat forming on window panes,

warm sheets and a labrador wait at the cabin,

cradling warmth and eating socks,

one hand drawn in tow as another twists the key,

amber glow from kerosene lamps,

feather boa and a bowler cap,

tussled hair and hush toned voices,

go where they go,

soon whispers cease.


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