Logs

There is something about you
that I begin to slip away
from pathway of my life
when you are around.

That even from the freezing waters of love,
you came out alive,
and I don't know how to breathe
in this harsh atmosphere of frigid desires.

While you got a good grip on
the snowflakes of change waiting for you,
I am still living under the frost of our dreams.

Is this the reason,
I am writing a poem about you
like an idiot once again,
or maybe I just needed you to be with me
on weekends?

Will you accept the company of this unknown,
and help an artist to define the colors
you are wearing on your smile?

And I promise,
I will burn logs of unsent letters
in the fire of winter
just to make you feel comfortable.