Pretty will next autumn be

i know not how to touch you.
the miles numb my hands.  
i know not how to kiss you.  
distant my lips, their chill stands.  
i know not how to love you.  
bleeding forever red,  
the heart grows cold.  
 
anticipation,  
like snow flakes  
dusting upon your heart.  

can we both learn,  
from the chill,  
of this winter’s morn?  
can our hearts mend,  
what has distance torn?  
can the beauty of the bleak  
rise up, shelter    
causing us to be,  
so weary and weak?  
   
kiss sweet my lips,  
let my hand brush soft against your cheek.  
for your eyes, they mist.  
my lips upon your lids,  
warming the tears as they drip.  
pretty is the cold.  
pretty will the autumn be.  
pretty will you please,  
as you wrap your love around me.  
pretty will next autumn be…