Winter Discontent

I'll not wait anymore
for some frosty breeze
or ice maiden
to rapt you while we sleep.

This wintry idleness
makes you seem so pristine
so ethereal and corpse-like
that I'll have a hard time waking you
even though I've been itching to incriminate someone;
to spread some blame around.

And hopefully we can get straight to describing eachother's frailties
and enumerating our quicksilver nightmares;
pounding away on the drums of our discontent.