Your tan skin radiates-
damn, I swear,
I can see each
individual flake
of snow so-
so-white.
It's like a highlighter-
this snow blanket
beneath our feet-
and it bathes
you in glow as
it brightens the
midnight ground
around us.
You beckon,
but,
I will not be Icarus'd.
My love for you
has become cliche,
and on this mutual
goodbye,
Ariadne,
I will not answer
your call for a final
kiss,
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