Saturday, June 13, 2015


December is a faraway place
of brimstone and snow that hisses
like the last damp breaths of a pale
and powerless king coughing-up
spittle in the only color that counts.

It clinks like ice cubes floating
in the cold light-brown of the first
of many poured one after the other
from a just-bought bottle smeared
by tears and sweaty caresses.

December causes the wisty cinnamon
of your kisses to turn each gray exhale
into a frigid contemplation of your smile
and how it became the reason I awaken
shivering, remembering every minute of it.

RAIN Magazine - 2015

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