February

Faintest stirrings o' spring tickle my heart. How too short a song she sings whilst I hardly believe her. Cherry lipstick smear... shadowed a color. I love you more, she says she's the winner. What's in a name, this winter writers fame unashamedly awash. Just play the game, you'll see the sun over all the muddy slosh, there lies your freedom... As she escapes my gun.