On a frigid weather
I still remember
That night in December
When you gave me your scarlet letter.

Your cold skin touched mine
And your lips taste like red wine.
In your hands, I'll die—
See those eyes like a cherry pie.

We used to ride
Outside the city where we died.
We left our souls on the meadow
And danced all along beneath the willows.

Your cold hand touched my face—
The wind blows and untangles our lace.
Now you're gone, my love
And free as a white dove.


© Joel Gigante