Sunday, March 6, 2011

Chance Meeting......

The wind tugs at the frozen landscape
Tonight he is moody and blue
Roving the hills with a restlessness
I know, for I feel it too
He leaves no trace of his passing
And yet in the remnant air
I hear the sigh he is voicing
As his fingers run through my hair

He roams with teasing madness
I reach for his finger-tips
He pulls me in with harsh kisses
There is ice upon his lips
Yet it is not I who is shaken
He falls like a wave to the sea
I feel his ire weaken
As he releases me

The scent of spruce and balsam
Now claims the thickening air
I must go, for dusk is falling
So I leave him trembling there
Then, lest he appears defeated
He sweeps from the darkening sky
But somehow he has lost his fury
I smile as he rushes by


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