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The cold of winter’s bone
lingers silver in the crook of your ear.
She crystallises windpipes and creeps
into breathless lungs.
Dusk skies drip violet as she spins
a cobweb of frost through
a rattled ribcage.
Leaving crescent trails of hoarfrost
from Luna fingers that whisper
lullabies onto warm flesh.
Once invited, winter spreads.
Iris seeds wilt under hardened soil,
the crystal air she breathes fuels
her ice fire, suffocating her
surroundings with scalding cold.
“Secrets are
the power
you give them”
and you my dear,
you gave her a season.
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