Cold texture of pure poetry
Falling romantic on the street,
you, snow of this troubled winter,
Warm up my heart.
Unexpected and desired,
You infused magic in a routine too calculated
And hands that only work,
And do not caress enough.
The days are crowded and futile
But remember to carry your lens
In your personal pocket.
Search the details that hide in the folds
And under the shoes
But define those who think
and appreciate the moments like you do.
Through your lens
Your partners, friends, and lovers
Will shine like under falling frozen snow
And you can get closer with confidence.
The hidden meaning
Of these data
I cannot find.
No trend, no rise, No correlation
Lit a cone of negativity on the desk
Poke my ego after such a long effort
But launch me blindfolded towards
A chapter yet to write
With the flavour of fresh snow.