in winter, i get cold hands.

frosty first impressions, ice-cold stares that cause
the sun to shy away, taking with him the feeble lukewarm rays,
that are all he has to offer on wicked winter's days.
i blew you a kiss but it was snatched by spiteful mist,
called to you dear, but for the howling wind you could not hear.
even my tears were turned to stinging ice on vulnerable cheeks,
and if it weren't for the dandelions, those soft reminders of faith,
i would have crept away quietly into the cave of defeat,
to hibernate. instead, i lie in wait.