Bleak ice-blue walls thickening still
All frosty; naught moist nor turgid
So cold. So polite. Desolate…
I have left her
I should be with you
Yet we are bereft…
It should be you here
It was all for us
Pyrrhic this victory.
Bleak ice-blue walls thickening still
All frosty; naught moist nor turgid
So cold. So polite. Desolate…
