In-Spite of Self


It is enticing, the shades of snow.

Far off outside of me…

Frozen objects with no place to go.

In-spite of my disdain…

I linger in piles of bone brittle, white drifts.

Searching for the warmth of an elegant refrain.

Northerly gusts push my breath inward.

Light does not remain.imageedit_84_7143064990

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