December.

Some have had enough of the cold

They would rather slip into a coma

And like yellow fog over these streets

Disappear completely

But throw on a heavy comforter

Put your feet against a warm iron

Create some friction with your body

And inhale the smell of freshly pressed coffee

Now the blood is flowing

And even though the toilet bowl might be frozen

Heavy rainclouds are on the way

Mozart’s symphony is playing downstairs

And the icy perfumes of winter

Slowly dissipating against the warm of your

Newfound ambition