his hair flew down his face
like hay dipped in winter,
and pristine angles of ice laid in his wake
as his spirit of bells and light
flounced through the upcoming blizzard
i drank him in like cold cider in december,
a little too late for the season
YOU ARE READING
clarity poems
Poetryjust my collection of poems. i didn't know what to do with them so i decided to publish.
