Immersed In Desperation

I keep telling myself, you are in control.
But Winter, why do you always cut me off whenever
I ask to befriend you? My eyes aren't like your skies
you know...they are of brushed nettles, soft forest
grounds, perfumed pine trees, the color of soil.

You've never been affected by my chocolate brown eyes

For you are like raw flesh, making my eyes cringe
and my skin sweat out of the intensity of the gaze
that is far too Alaskan for my liking.

I have mumbled stories to you, Winter, on nights
when you withheld the shivers and I could draft out
my dreams for you...

So please, step away from this iciness, bring me
more than snow, and let me hear the words from
that you are so starved for warmth.

---
hr round poem for Day 7 of Colm's challenge
written 2/10/13