Blustering sweet nothings

The wind is throwing itself at me,
small girl in a small house
cutting paper snowflakes in her break.
When i throw them outside he is ready.
They fly fly fly away, he keeps them in
his inner left pocket. Better than a locket.

The wind is throwing itself at me
and i lean on him more than
any man ever before, hold me up weary.
Tussle knots into my hair,
make it fly like serpentine blind spots I am
medusa for you. Love ensues.

The wind is throwing himself at me.
And try as i might i can’t help but
bristle with bumps, waves of cold.
Unforgiving thief, return my nose
and all ten toes, or thereabouts.
I have loved you ever I knew you.

The wind can take me when I am old,
If he be so bold.

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