January, and it’s that proper cold
Flick my tongue out, taste the snow
Frozen Reassurance of a world spinning on
Offered from the gray expanse above
A throwback
To the kiss of winters long gone
Icy winds blow ill
Crossing the threshold of my lips
Wishing to breathe the clock backwards
Before that cataclysmic industrial thaw
Ushered in the unease of
A Tropical Appalachia
71 degrees in January, Just last week
Everyone knows something is very wrong
As the minute hands crawls
Ever closer towards a colossal Midnight
My best friend’s paws
Hallow
Hold
Every inch of ground
She walks upon
I’m not ready.
I’m not ready.
I’m not ready.
I’m not ready
