Wintry nights
collect themselves
under deep meditation
and spring forth
with floral bouquets
and pint-size pests.
Now,   forming   the
 tiny      storms    in
the         fields     near.
Cumbersome in the sky,
farm hands lift the fields,
shaping the land’s blanket
to remove all content.
While barren, the
condensed air filters through
and   cold    lips   kiss
under a   heating    blanket
long    enough   to   feel
loved,   yet     it’s    never
     warm        enough.


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