Nicholas Browning

Cold Earth

Dead winter, say farewell,

Splitting atoms in the sky.

From clothes down to the shade,

Olden fumes, acrylic life,

 

The phone you won\'t stop looking at,

Or the anger I feel for being this way;

Envious of division,

The other end of your conversations,

 

That I used to know it

And no longer do,

Or that warmth from summer

I no longer see in you.