Hot Ice
I miss October summers and April winters,
The touch of a soul against mine.
I miss July downpours and December heatwaves,
The spirit holding me as I cry.
I miss underground gardens and overhead basements,
The whisper of electricity along the line.
I miss delicate roses and prickling buttercup,
The ache of my mind asking why.
Copyright © Summer Rose | Year Posted 2026
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