The ice thaws;
purses;
and kisses the strands of snow.
Gliding water splits apart,
eroding the already soft rock in its path.
Knitting together,
the liquid flows down the face of the hill;
caressing the plateau.
Then my lips move up to hers,
press tenderly, and hold
for three scintillating seconds.
A ferry departing from Aalen crosses the ocean,
taking the two lovers to their inevitable departure.

Hips (^-o-^)

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Valnuary, in the year 341 AF.