Yellow

You give me fever.

Why does love always seem to blossom in the springtime?

It is what it is.

I let my words flow like wine.
The snow slowly melts and runs
down my boots as liquid cold.
I grow tired of this frigid air.
"Welcome to Minnesota"
Somber, overcast clouds.
A dull, grey morning.

Someday soon the sun will warm
my hands again.