Sonnet CCXLIV

You kiss me on the cheek, a frozen, bitter kiss.
At times I wish for you. You’re early, sometimes not.
At time you bring me joy, but not for very long.
You’re fickle, ever-changing, fleeting from my bliss.
And stark. You’re barren, frigid white as an abyss.
You’re frozen, cold, and yet your passion feels so hot.
I’d almost say you’re sly, but no, you’re really not.
you’re nude, exposed, and always there: ubiquitous.

And there are times – the times I cannot stand your face,
the times I wish to slap you as you slap my face.

And yet, I love you. Winter’s bland without you here.
You’re precious, shining, platinum, and silvery,
an ornament that shimmers only once a year,
a costly spice that nature sprinkles sparingly.