Edge of Desire
The snow always tastes bitter this time of year,
My trembling hands trying to
rid the mirrors of frost, pile of ash in my palms.
Where do the mountains end?
Certainly not in these endless days filled with nothing but waiting,
I’ve got the calendar marked,
going nowhere. This is what happens,
when you think the world is going to end.
I don’t have any love letters in my heart, only pieces of paper,
raking cuts through my body,
I’ve been dreaming city lights,
desire, desire, seemed to change more then expected
these months get longer.
I’ve given up my rose petal wants and traded them in,
I’ve got far too many for my own taste.
And here we are, bashful and filled with hatred for love.