20 past midnight.
It's 20-past midnight,
and I thought of you
as I wandered out in the cold.
It's snowing.
You've seen more than this
from before, I know
--thicker, slippery white blankets,
filled with deceiving allure;
dangerously devoid of any warmth...
It's snowing.
I'm thinking of you;
wishing for the warmth of summer
that you alone can bring.
Note: It's too dark to see anything, really; and it doesn't seem like it's snowing, but it actually is. I swear. 😆
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