Winter has penetrated
My atmosphere for years.
Bone shivers,
Silvery icicles
Formed in the hollows
Of my heart.
Where is the
Sun for my spring?
The blue of birds
Refracted right by the sky
Reflected in your
Button black
coffee scraps
eyes.
What a prairie life
It could be
To reap the ripe fruits
Of summer.
Thousands of cells
Left to thaw
In a vanishing desert.
The Scarlett Locket 
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