when he kissed her he breathed summer air into her winter lungs

when his fingertips fluttered across her frosty collarbones he left wild flowers to bloom from her consellations of freckles,

when he spoke he sounded as sweet bird song and the whispering trees below her moon

but the thing about summer is that it's gone so soon

the flowers must wither and the nights will be long

but soon her winter will again hear his summer song


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