White Skin

And as the sun breaks the snow-dusted mountaintop I sigh to myself.
Oh, what sweet sadness has kept me company this past night;
white skin, radiant in the gentle light of the full moon,
stayed at my bedside and whispered in my ear.
“I love you,” it sang on a hush.
My face became saturated with dread at the notion.
Help me to open my window that I may bathe in a breeze.
That knife air, severing its way through early spring.
Let it effortlessly seep into my lungs, let them swell with intention:

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