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A White Revolution
Where Snowflakes Dance Against My Windows
I am mesmerized in Denmark, where snowflakes dance against my windows. They settle on my books, papers, and even the cups that cradle my morning coffee. This white revolution, this defiance of summer’s simplicity, stirs something in me. In its fresh, untamed form, snow dares to rewrite the world, and so do I.
I wish to love in the manner of winter — fierce, revolutionary, stormy. I can be nothing less than exceptional with you, an extraordinary woman. With you, a wildly passionate lover, I cannot remain a disarmed warrior in a world stripped of its defenses. The snow does not worry me, nor does the chill or frost. I battle it with poetry and love, for I know of no warmer blanket than the heat of my affection for you or the verses of love I pen for you.
In these two magical ways, I solve the physical chill and the longing of my heart and soul. Don’t fret about the weather outside.
Our true summer lies within us. I can always find embers in the frost of your hands, flames in the rubies of your lips, and poetry in every contour of your femininity — a land rich in its hidden waters.
