Snowless Winter Tina Compton
I thought of him in a thousand pastel shades of a dying sun while bloodless clouds of ribbons captured your smile, as frozen in my memories as Demeter’s recollection of December mornings in summer’s wake. Denial in the form of ice on the shores of Greenland, but it would always be almost spring in the coffee toned warmth I found in your gentle eyes. A promise for a new beginning where there were only ruins. Birth and death in a single moment where your features shattered and decayed under an aquatic sky of amethyst and falling diamonds like forgotten angels. I won’t say I’m in love- that’s not the sort of pity that I’m looking for. But there is poetry in the way you crumble when fear lingers on your lips like poison. You called me discordia, and I called you calamity, and we danced, red cheeked and almost content through the tired moments in the winter hush where I captured your fragrance. I locked them in the flurries of snow that fanned my cheeks, as your eyelashes once kissed my brow. But that was July, and frost was always in your wake when your tongue lost your heart’s intentions. So I looked toward another season and stopped writing fairytales that hung like a noose outside my window. You know the rest- you watched with honey glazed eyes as I damned myself with the tide. You saw god as the passion eroded resolve and Babylon crumbled beneath the pleasure you sent scintillating through my scattered thoughts. The voiceless joys you squeezed out without question then blessed our memory- but when the embers blink out, the darkness resumes, and Seasons fade into the monotony of now.
The rest is grey silence.
The rest is in the siren’s song that carried Odysseus out to sea.