She’s Not a Lady


House of Heart

Winter does not empathize
with withered branches
or displaced birds fleeing waves of
of frozen breath.
Her howling wind is a laugh out loud and
she hasn’t the grace to cover
her mouth.
A tease of holly and evergreen
flicker at the curve of  billowed thighs.
Glistening folds of hallowed mounds
drift in other worldly sighs
ensnared in her exquisite binds.

Karol Bak

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