Snowstorm
It’s making settled homes seem farmhouse pure,
and frosting neighbors’ panes a distant blue,
So all enclosed takes on an oily hue.
We sit alone. Without, the frigid world
swirls punishing astringent falsities;
its softened lines and blustry, dancing curves,
and Christmas lights in misty-colored blurs
hide all forgotten ‘neath it’s creeping freeze.
Ah love, let us live forever in tonight,
While mistletoe kisses and eggnog smiles
Vaseline all in filter-focus white –
Cuddled in illusion, we’re tucked up tight.
We lie within our world of post card guiles,
blanketed ‘gainst the tempest-teeming night.
Dave Hessert
