winter snow

the girl glances out

hopeful for an early display

of blood-red-orange

presses her fingers against her chilled bedside window

fantasizes about the cold

bleached bitter white

that it was nestled into her slivered bones

to repeal her scorching soul

smells the candied essence of Christmas

the distinctive scent of cinnamon

if it were up to her

she’d be dancing bare-feet in the streets

with the warmth of winter snow

and a cloudless cerulean sky

a heaven where she would dwell

and when she came back

the screaming would not be so bad

her hours would be spent

romanticizing the crimps of the snow

forgetting the night sky on her legs

and the stars on her cheeks

when the last of the sun touches the horizon

commencing the kick-off of civil twilight

the windows to her world darken

but she doesn’t blink

the girl glances out

presses her fingers against her chilled bedside window

wishing for the protection

of the warmth of winter snow