Monday, December 5, 2011

It's time to catch snowflakes on your tongue
But each unique, frozen formation of water
Melts near your mouth warm from whiskey.
Last night's hurrah left your breath hot
With a hangover and your belly of a cauldron
Boiling over some internal furnace;
Be careful to not let it froth over the pot's top.
Although you feel like hell, you should go out
In this weather, it's cold enough to quell
Any inferno, and I bet the breeze feels good
Against your forehead, aching like a headband
Worn too tight.

Mid-afternoon flurries with low visibility.
Thanks Mr. Weatherman for the obvious update,
But I've acknowledged the outside world
With a slight nod through the window.
I guess some people need to know though,
Those people who live blindly as hermits.
Those people who say, "I've got a great view,"
But live in basements with safety block glass
To let the light in when the Sun is in position.
Otherwise, I guess, they're left in the dark.
Yet, it's grey days like these, that there's no difference.

No comments:

Post a Comment