[mousepoet]: 243.mousey's Poetry.Ess-Snow

She’s small and nice,
a winter fox
with love in her eyes
and mouth
and warm to the touch.

But all I see is the boy behind her,
his heart a bit of tundra
and rabbit fur,
so I take her close
and pretend he isn’t there.

But I can smell the sun
rising over the arctic hills,
and the jackrabbits are changing color
as the snow turns to mud
and heather.

Honesty will break me,
an icicle falling,
falling,
as spring hits the north.
I am melting, and I am failing,

so I take her close,
and pretend he isn’t there.