A Few Snowdrops More

To the girl I met once…

Mmmmm! she said about the Swisss chocolate she had placed on her tongue

and, wery goood, three ‘o’s long

but oh! when the snow fell from a branch heavy with time

it’s soo cold and vet! she shrieked

In Wrocklaw the snow does not spit!

Ah, Vrocklaw you mean? I said, then, quick, duck!

quack? she mused

and with only her life to lose I covered her with my arm, while she pressed herself to my chest, and a huge chunk of snow dropped like a bomb

until all that was left

was to shiver from the warmth

of vhen her mouth met mine

and her lips tormented like wine, straight from the vine

as she giggled, while she wiggled out again

my dear, she smiled, you are vild!

and vhispered, I vant to see the vorld vis you

then

gasped, as I pulled her close once more

under the full boughs of that tall, tall tree

she

reached down and the word wait died in the back of my throat

Vhy, she sighed, while under her coat she also unbuttoned her blouse

and

oh the carpet of dry pine needles patterned my back, as she called the wolves that lay within us

and the sensations from her nails tantalised my senses until I ached and she arched and bit my neck

and with tiny snowflakes drifting

I

took her hands and kissed her fingertips

cherry trees are the first that blossom in Spring, I murmured

Vould you kiss my cherry toes too? she teased, demured, smiled; vanton voman, I replied

Vhat? I am not a wampire you know! she scolded

and my accent melted into hers; molded

our vonderful kissssses have five ‘s’s, she declared, her cold hands under my arms, and I held her, intoxicated by her chocolate-laced charms

And I loved her still decades later

up to her last letter

when I was almost next door

and now, every vinter, alone, I watch the snow

drop

from solitary trees that blossom

no more

Written for dverse, a poem with a <turn> or <epiphany>

*The word, and notion of ‘vampire’ originate from Serbia.