I went to the penny store, and bought a pair of left-handed winter.
To place on my face when the sun scorches the earth.
The last time I was there I bought snow geese and placed them around your head like a crown, but snow geese, like all good things, melt.
I hoped the pair of left-handed winter would last longer, since I am a rightie.
But March came, then April and my left-handed winter seemed smaller.
It didn't keep the burn away as well as it did before. At first not quite noticeably; but April faded into May and I found my pair of left-handed winter on my nightstand, in a soggy puddle colored like the fire of autumnal lust.
Do I weep?
Is it futile to keep this passion on ice?
When I weep the tears swirl in colors of aqua brilliant as oil pastels into the death soup of my liquefied pair of left-handed winter.
