I am the biting wind.
Harsh. Bitter. Cold.
I bear not the comfort
or subtleties of a summer breeze.
I will not flirt and flit about,
Or be gently pushed away when you tire of me.
You may try to move on
but I am not easily escaped.
I lie and wait those frigid nights
outside your door,
lunging as soon as you emerge.
I spring for your vulnerabilities.
Feel my breath upon your neck,
your exposed ears, cheeks, nose.
I attack without mercy,
begging your acknowledgement
but you continue briskly
until you reach your destination.
Though you ignore me, you feel my presence,
A deep chill aching in your bones.
A single glance through a window,
At the leaf-less trees,
At the frozen squirrel corpses beneath them
Will make you recall my icy touch.
I will not be forgotten.