(Written February 24, 2005, at age 17.)
it was bitterly cold, and all was white,
snowflakes fell, obscuring sight.
they held hands and silently walked,
no voices heard, their hearts talked.
a perfect sheet of snow, the ground bled,
stained by their footsteps as they tread
and slowed and stopped for but a moment,
to turn, touch lips, the air potent.
not needing to speak, they knew,
and as the winter whirled, and the wind blew,
as one they moved again, in rhythm steady,
their breathing in perfect synchrony.
in beauty they walked, slowly further,
with each other they walked, to each other.
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