It is people like you
Who make me wish I was beautiful
A worthy trinket to hang on your arm.
I would be the autumn sunset embodied in flesh
The merest touch leaving chills down your neck.
But I am only the winter wind
The chill of my touch is biting
The sound of me a wail
And the sight of me unregistered.
But unlike those sunset girls you touch so fondly
My winter wind runs fingers through your hair
Brings color to your cheeks
Chaps your lips with invisible kisses.
You may never see me
You may always be repulsed by me
But what sunset can sing to you in gale?
Or lower you tenderly into the deepest of slumber?
When you are naught but bones
You will not feel the pull of the sun’s warmth
But I will whistle through you, and carry your dust to eternity.