So, I apparently decided last night while heavily inebriated that I could write. The results:

Sycamore branches
dance in the wind that
dries my tears.
Salt stains my face
in bitter streaks
and the sun sets
on an icily beautiful
autumn day.

Chivalrous in dismissal
you ride your white horse
leaving a damsel in distress
excaliber
and the lady in the lake
accepts her watery destiny

Consider the lilies, indiscriminately
slain in frost
is it cruel
or is it life
or death?
Can you choose?
Your life
my death-
winter is my darkness
a day too short to survive.

Shivering
though not from the cold
in the air
but the frost in your eyes.


Ah, drunken poetry....