Cold Feet and Hot Cocoa

Running like young eyes
where falling mists have trailed sultry lips
over brimming fields of steepled flame,
tears of laughter transform translucent snapshots
frozen frames.

Flushed cheeks glow brilliantly against trampled strands,
a meadow's mane ruffled by anxious feet,
(combed through life and seasons reaping hand.)
Seeping earth, where soiled doves lay, skin pale
pricked by heavens torrential sighs.

Await my love.

See billowing clouds, as feathers filter light,
the winter steals a kiss, a promise.
The bitter wind is a passionate Heathcliff
wary of Catherine's simple dress.
Still, her ethereal garb beckons his perusal.
He drives the mighty storm to her door.

Watch how snow lists gently down
welcoming vows and stowing secrets
beneath an icy glaze.
Tranquility would never be complete
without the sharp slap of weeping.