Winter

sun bathes in snow,
a few hues melted
to eventually freeze
in the sky

a crepuscular light,
a white grave of memories,
that smells like burnt wood
and fresh dark wine
by the fireplace

a white sheet of blindness,
over a glass of silenced darkness
fire devours
the aching coldness,
the melody,
appeases even gods,

the fangs of frost
grope the petals of the flowers,
some will perish this winter.
intertwining beauty and death
both of which I seek,
but at different times
in my life

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