flushing meadows.

Cold winter days
Were never her kindred
Though flaming heat
By fireside
Nights awake dreaming
Settled in her breath
Like smoke filled rooms
She bloomed there
Flushing meadows
Upon her porcelain cheeks
Memories of his kisses
Inside her heart
The tears fell tenderly
From her eyes
Hours early upon dust
burning in the skies
Waiting for that never ending
Frost to return
the way it felt for her body
to burn
To immobile them in time
like crystal dwelling drips
seeking to never forget
the passion upon his lips.
nardine Sanderson 29/05/2015.