Sunday.

The snow was white.
Crispy. For all the
kisses and wishes
that covered the tracks.
And the sights.
Over the table full of wine
the air was cuddly.
Heavy from all the
runny mascaras and lipsticks.
Chaperone slept around
and made sweet honey tee.
Prepared only for
a short trip
didn't expect life to happen.
It  has been happening
ever since.
Atlantis, Neverland and God.
The snow was white.
Violent observer of
non-violent crimes.
Committed at daybreaks
in the darkened beds.
The snow was white.