Crunching leaves beneath my boots
our steps are not in time
blowing wind
minus moving limbs.
life, a frosty design.
we keep walking,
minus voices talking
silently singing out-of-tune.
reaching the edge looking down below
contemplating direction our wind will blow.
one last time
turning facing one another,
falling snow
streaming down
our lips touch together, with
breathing whispers
fading desires, destiny is foretold.