There comes a time when words
become inadequate like they are a pair of
woolen mittens to warm the hands
while the upper, lower torso,
clothed only by a thin fabric, shivers.
Cold clambering and biting the big toe.
There comes a time when words
idle like water, frozen into glistening
icicle. The fall arrested to a stop
under eaves, on wintry days where
it’s cold and an I love you is not enough.
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