Red Cheeks


When we become restless,
fingers bunched and minds hot with anger,
we crave the breathless and as a gift the heavens sprinkle us with
white.

Crystal cold, absorption of
sound.
It collects our troubles
and mutes them till we are found.
Exhausted screams are put to
sleep,
renewed by the cold
that showers down.

A gift to all,
yes snowy hills of long lost love,
I thank you for my lover
and everything above.

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