Snowflakes on Your Skin

Christmas descends like a thief in snow,
Stealing breaths where your touch used to glow.
In streets adorned with lights and reckless cheer,
I find the ghosts of love we didn’t bring here.

We were a season unto ourselves once wild,
December nights where love was the only chill.
Your laugh – a spark in the frosty air,
My heart – a flame you’d secretly shelter there.

Do you remember nights we drowned in scent?
Chasing shadows on walls where love was bent?
Your eyes – a window to a warmth I'd claim,
My love – a snowfall that only fell for you in vain.

We wrote our history on fragments, on air,
No endings planned, no exits we could spare.
In stolen hours, in borrowed light,
We were the trants of our own wild delight.

Then the wires snapped. The signals blurred.
Like stars dying in a sky we could no longer.
You took the compass. I took the worn pages.
Now I unfold them alone, in altered stages.

In vacant lots where memories still cling,
I find scraps of us – a ticket, a useless ring.
The ghosts of touches haunt like unpaid debts,
Reminding me of hills we never got to trek.

Snow falls quiet on streets we used to pace,
Echoes linger where we once found our place.
In hollowed halls where Christmas now pretends,
I search for shadows of the love we didn’t mend.

Do I still love you? Like snow asks if it falls.
Like lungs ask if they need the air’s walls.
The wanting digs a channel, deep and blind,
A geography of you that I still trace in vain.