The
Last Kiss of Winter
By Oscar S. Cisneros
Tonight, I lay you back down into your grave surrounded
by black leafless trees. Leave my lips blue with one last
kiss, send a shiver down to my bones, for tonight will
end our love affair of the season. Give me the last kiss
of winter, my sweet.
A raven caws in the distance. I have lost my way home
in this fog, but I care not for when I return to the lands
of the living, it will be back to the monotony of the
sun, its wretched rays washing the color from paintings,
drying the soil and wilting lilies. I would that I understood
this worship of that bright orb, but I suppose that if
the minds of madmen contain inscrutable thoughts so must
the minds of laymen be when it comes to the sun: A simple,
too facile assumption, that light and hot is better than
cool and dark. Fie upon't!
I know what is right for me, and I will not march lemming-like
to the sunrise of wrinkled skin and cancer. Preserve me
forever in the embrace of winter, let fog and mist greet
me every morning and every evening. I thrive under cloudy
skies wrapped in gray scarves and black coats. The eyes
can see without glare; Colors seem brighter, greens are
dark green and the parched earth turns rich black and
moist. And what of lovers? At home where they belong,
engaged in conversation, engaged in one another without
a care for the world or other people. Snow me in with
my woman anytime, with my other lover icing all the windows.
My homage to you in black will continue throughout the
year, while others are herded into summer whites and the
bright colors of spring. Do not fault me for my infidelities
with fall, for I lust after her only because she reminds
me of you. I wait with patience for the first kiss of
winter, for the first kiss from you, my love.
