My summer sun wasn’t kind
to anyone, but I’d make an exception for you.
I tried to travel this path, chase the winter moon
to get right back you.
We don’t see each other often.
The fall wasn’t meant for us darling.
We had steep mountains, frigid rocks;
foreign deserts, dried up flowers.
We were neither hot or cold;
we didn’t love nor hate. I had hardly
known any meaning,
my life had not an ounce of meaning.
Not until the spring caved just right,
an opening of wind caressing my skin.
I did not
know love until your winter sun kissed my moon.
Leave a Reply