Kisses of Winter

The icy lips of winter
kiss my cheeks
and open their hands for an offering.

A delicate flower rests in my palm,
its delicate petals wrapping in around themselves in delicate bundles
and waiting for the opportunity
to open with the warmth that will never come.

They wait patiently for me to break,
so they can easily envelop me in their clutches
and bring about the end of the end.
For the end of the end will always mean the beginning.

They hope for me to search for a light switch I will never find,
just for hope to fall into their fragrant depths,
and die like a small spider squished beneath a shoe.

They want nothing more than to cradle me in their embrace,
and shout aloud
That I will never leave them behind.
That I cannot let the flakes of white wilt them.

So as the icy lips of winter
kiss my cheeks
and open their hands for my offering,
I turn away and the flower opens its petals
to say hello to the world around it.