Winter Sonata

In the landscape of melancholy, where arctic heartbeats linger, I long for withered willows to blossom like speckled diamond petals, while your crystalline silhouette strolls through tangled tunnels of my weathered mind. And I question the highest choir orchestrating ethereal anthems: What if there’s no right key to harmonize this undying yearning? What if love had a voice? Would it be an echo of melting snow— thawing glacier hearts to stream upon silver lakes, mirroring drifting clouds of memories that drizzle rose-tinted flakes? There, the crisp air whispers magical tales chauffeured in cashmere cadence. But, like the golden tendrils of winter jasmine, my fingers stretch beyond fogs of frozen rainbows, sketching sweet-scented dreams across skies in porcelain pigments, as your voice glimmers and glows amidst poetic pearls resting on your lyrical lips, shifting through colors of the seasonal breeze, serenading symphonies for soulmates. So let me undress the wintry wisps of vanilla, cloaking the citrine threads of sunrise in your eyes, listening to the song of the wind that shrouds our unsung sonatas when we were undone. For you and I, we are like jewels in the azure, ruminating in rhymes, quilted in a secluded igloo, as chickadees of the night chirp in sync with the moon, mimicking hymns from the hypnotic lyre of Orpheus, to which Eurydice waltzed, even the waning stars would unravel a sequined staircase to the gardens above the highest spheres. For I would die a million deaths to rewind and replay the dulcet chorus of this immortal romance.