His Winter Burn

And there you stood.

Draped in a black hoodie;

with the words,

“Good God Almighty”

plastered a-cross.

And there I stood.

My torso twisted and kneaded

Into a gaping pit of frosted confidence  

From the sharpened sweet 

among that Winter day,

 I understood.

For the chill in her poisoned breath let

that phrase to strike me in the chest, but her icy presence

blessed me with a pristine excuse for my 

Burgundy blubbering face and the chill my body kept.

On that Winter Day, 

I stood with the terms my love for you sweared,

the distaste my cross bears,

your love for Him 

dared the fact that we could ever be,

more. You and your prayers—

The Winter Day held me closely, 

clasped my cheeks, familiar with my story, 

and apologized profusely.

A numbing feeling alluded off of her, salve for the unholy

“Thank me later,” she uttered through

and since then that Winter Day turned into 

winter nights then colder weeks–months and years too. 

As she should’ve gotten warmer and I become old

to me, she was just as bitter and cold 

as that day, when my fantasy was caught 

and time stopped

And I was eternally to be drenched,

by her cold-blooded quench

of the sin I clench.

Because I am nonconforming—

in the silent winter morning;

I fall in the never-warming.

At least Romeo and Juliet died 

to be together in the warm afterlife.

In the broken hope where a spring day thrives.

I pray this question whilst I remain alive—

How cold is it to love someone,

Who believes you will burn?