The Last Lip of Winter (again)
And so I sit
At the edge of seasons
With my ghostly legs dangling
Over the last lip of winter
Can I let myself slip
Loosen my grip
On these moss-covered teeth
Above and below me
While it yawns at my back
This mouth black melancholic
That once carried me ’round
Inside color drained out
Frightened but familiar
Strange safety was found
I could crawl back inside
This giant gray gaping wide
But it stinks of stale breath
And there is a breeze, fresh
Flora blooming below
I have never been one
To let myself fall, to spring
So freely towards hope
I only know how
To gulp and let go
-a.r.
Painting: The Precipice, by Lea Kelley
sometimesihatemycat 
Brilliant
Thank you. I am hoping that winter has walloped her last, fingers crossed. May she go quietly into that good spring.
Rather than into that good night?
Ha ha, yes. A literary play on words. I wouldn’t want winter to never come back. I am a bit sick of her at this point, but would like to see her come back around again, the alternative might be rather tragic.
April this is an amazing poem. I have been reading through your blog and you are an amazing writer. I enjoy your work.
Oh wow, thank you. That is always so nice to hear. I never know…most days I fell like it’s crap, but I enjoy the writing of it. Thank you so much for reading and for letting me know you enjoy it. That means a lot.
That’s how I feel about my writing but at least it makes me happy to write it. You’re most welcome. I look forward to reading many more. Smiles