It's White, Not Gold

It’s the sort of heat that smother, until my lungs

exhale fire and my skin itches with the friction in the air.

I am drowning in the sun and it burns me to my core,

but I don’t suppose I’ve ever felt so alive.

It was a long winter. My mind was frozen and my

heart was numb, and you were there, blowing frost into the hearth.

You were enamored with perfection,

and I was blinded by the beauty of it all.

And we were beautiful, but God,

only for a moment.

Ice melts and snow muddies until all that

remains are murky whispers of how it was

never meant to last.

It’s said that gold is our hardest hue to hold,

but you taught me it’s the white of freshly fallen snow

and the first time he smiles at you.

It’s the ice that decorates barren landscapes

and the dress you wear on your first date.

In an instant white can fade to

the ugly gray of plowed snow along

roadways and when he says “I love you” but his eyes are cold.

Of the dismal February skies that cover

the sun with snowless clouds, and when

his lips find yours but you feel nothing.

The sky was a brilliant gold as

I whispered my goodbyes to you.

I suppose that was when I realized

we would find our warmth again.