The warmth of the sun,

The cold touch of the moon,

Even a soft brush of the wind,

Reminds me of you ;

Those forest gold eyes,

That stitched up smile,

Those coded Latin words,

In my books you used to hide ;

That daunting goodbye,

On that January eve,

When the snow flakes danced,

To the rhythm of my screams,

That serene walk;

That you walked away,

The hazy wave;

That left me astray,

Oh that January eve,

That frosted my heart,

Iced my lips ;

How it tore me apart,

Froze my tears,

Into daggers of ice,

That speared my soul,

As if white vice;

Your shallow footsteps,

Engraved in the snow,

My bruised vision,

Bewitched by their glow;

The cloudy mist,

That sighs from my lungs,

My wine dripped rims,

Should I take a plunge?

But I ache to know,

That secret for once,

Was it just an inked poem;

Or did we really find love?