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.