Snowed Under

PoeticsSnowedInMantle’s too obvious

and blanket reeks of cheap vodka and sweat stains.

Sheet refers to black ice, the treachery of slipping.

So what word should I use

for wintry timing of our springs?

Each fresh puff of indignation

frays the quilt that dampens ardour.

This cloak and dagger business

has quenched my refrain far too long.

Are there shoots beneath the freezing?

Stones left unsplit from jaw-biting cold?

One thing I do know:

it’s not a comforter.

 

Join us for some wintry poetry – as literal or as metaphorical as you like – at dVerse Poets Pub tonight!