'you could ice my birthday cake with milk-blue marshmallow snow any day.'
I think as I march home, half- tipped and snow whips around me, frantic as new love.
(you could stare at me with those pale no-color eyes)
Every streetlight I pass under turns the snow to stars, a galaxy spun out around me.
(you could magnetize your eyes like desert sand to mine)
The orange streetlight turns white snow infernal, the blue-white fluorescent one makes my breath cloud through the whirling snow and glow like hope.
But you are still cryptic as weather patterns, as omens read in clouds.
Still you are as cryptic as words.
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