Memory of a Winter Lover
Does he,
when autumn zips the lining in his coat,
still puff pretend cigarettes,
blow smoke rings at the moon?
And in mid-winter
when angels shed their robes
to dress a shivering earth,
does he still fall back,
stretching arms and legs,
to find the perfect fit?
And on those nights
when Van Gogh wakes
to paint crystal canvas,
does he feel my hot breath
steam from his cup of cider,
and sipping,
taste my lips?
Copyright © Jan Nelson | Year Posted 2022
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