I dream of a vaporous January.
Pulchritudinous in its animosity.
How its moist mists slither across verdant and supple timberlands.
How its frosty chills bring vermilion to everyone's cheeks and noses.
How each one of us, like little foxes, promptly appreciates the silver warmth drops of our teapot homes.
How its icicle air lacerates my lungs, as I strut and frolic in the blizzard, so boldly, refusing to rest my ill bag of bones and dry the damp of my rickety sweat.
How the city is pseudosoundless, yet utterly alert of your coming presence.
How you surf up on the indigo whirlwinds of this beautiful winter-tide from your peanut planet just to whisper of more passionate dimensions.
How we hold each other's wasted hearts with our ardent and willing hands, and you feel like cotton and chamomile tea.
How we're immortal in our electricity.
How we pray to paradisaical forces to never cease the storm that brought you here.
How you promise to build us a time-machine to trap us in a loop that never ends, semper tempest, semper tenderness.
I love you, always.