Frosted Rooftops

As I look out from my window,

cup of tea in my hand,

slow jazz in the background,

and stuck on the hope that soon

the snow shall come,

I begin to realize that

it's

already here.

My neighbor's rooftops have all received

a sweet welcoming kiss from winter

along with a sad last hug from summer.

Their windows too,

much like the one which is being warmed

by my not-so-desired presence,

are frosted, with gentle droplets of water

sticking firmly to the glass.

Someone please,

make this last,

I think to myself.

Unintentionally,

I spill my drink.

(Damn

it.)

Now I

have

to

clean

it.

Oh, don't forget the frost.

It's still beautiful out there:

sweet kisses from sunshine

don't kill winter's charm,

for you are jealous of how a cold heart

has a tendency to do less harm

than your painful rays which

I have to painfully gaze on each new morning.

My,

how I hate waiting.