sulk sweetly, my love.

this usually comes so easily...  
my mind pouring like honey  
from a ceramic pot  
heated on a window sill  
in the still sun of late autumn.  
 
but now, with winter,  
the sugar has crystallized,  
its rough edges sharpening my  
disposition.  
 
if only someone could  
melt my crystallized mind,  
on this day of love  
it's all I ask....  
 
but I suppose that's  
too much to ask of you.  
You always lit my fire,  
but you could never hold  
a candle to him.  
 
the hours drag on  
and I am cold,  
sulking in my  
sharpened disposition.