Winter leaves behind its dewy crystal jewels on every bud and petal spring bore, so her demure offspring will blossom with the essence of love winter infuses in them, all through scorching summer and pelting days of monsoon.
The crimson rose peeked through the icy fog to gaze at the glowing orb of warmth beseeching its golden rays to graze her petals and thaw them into silken ruby lips, worth getting kissed your sight by.
My piping mug of ginger tea wafts amidst this biting fog, furiously at war against it, while my arms braced with fuzzy knitted wool now tasting of frost the winter gust gifts us, as for me, I only cared about the warm sweetness this beverage fills me with.
I witness my sighs change into cold fog, losing themselves in the mists of winter, making my lips smile at how it takes away these sharp breaths I held on freezing my core and making them a part of it.
And like all these little souvenirs casting over my heart, I feel winter making its way into my journal, for every year it brings me thrills of these very same instances in ways I can't predict, so treasuring them in my notes is all I could do to savor it.
YOU ARE READING
THE PREMISE OF LOVE
PoetryMy Poetry, the art form of the soul, is an exquisite tapestry of language that weaves together emotions, thoughts, and experiences with skillful craftsmanship. It is a captivating expression of the human spirit, transcending time and culture, to tou...
