The icicle
Drips on my lips
And I lick
The cold and bitter
Taste winter brings
A flavor of reality
I dread yet cannot
Get enough of
As if knowing
In my genes
That after this
Frigid bit
I will once again
Get to lick
Spring’s rich
honey,
the warmth of it
warming my bones
even as I sip
this bitter brew
like cold tea
waiting for the sun
to warm and sweeten it
this bitter bit
part of all that is.
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