Since then, the air tastes
Of mince pies
And mulled wine. Winter snow,
Skin white,
Tickles my nose
With a faint, floral perfume.
Since then, the sky glows
A glossy rouge, and the streets
Curve like a woman’s thighs.
The sparrows sing
In girlish trills, and the doves
Talk in a lover’s whisper.
Since then, I think
Of nothing else,
And all the world
Makes me think of you.
He Who Wanders 