Cranberry and Raspberry tea

in breathy cold rasps we grasp
our woollen sleeves
and turn our cheeks red
to the hot air
heave our heads into beanies
and layer our odd socks
which in an odd way
match each other
coats so black, so grey
in a street pathed with so many fish and chip shops
drycleaners and florists
pretty flowers in black buckets out the front
eight bucks a bunch for the yellow ones
I’d like to buy my boy in jeans a yellow flower
put it behind his ear
and lead him in my hand
away with me

away

away

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Filed under life, love, poetry, winter, writing

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