January has gone, thank fuck.

Now this sorry month, is bereft of cold too.

All we have is a sister's unwanted birthday

and this day, set aside for love.

 

I accept there's something about snow,

be it a softening that makes worlds new,

or an awakening that kindles something in you.

An ancestral memory of a Nordic flow, maybe.

 

So I hope that between now and March

arctic winds get together and blow

freeze, sodden ground starch stiff.

What greater gift for your birthday?

 

Until then, I'll clench an unseasonal rose

between coffee stained teeth 

because, beneath this broke back exterior,

I still grow for you..