Lick The Frosting

Real powdered sugar snow
sprinkled on the side of this doughnut hole.
Laid down on a shoulder already cold.

Ghosts slap the white spaces
floating and spin ‘em around.
This wind with its slip showing,

twirls and curls crystalline flakes
together like frosting and I
long to lick its sweetness off the knife.

To taste the unseen gusts of chill
in the winter batter bowl
carries this child back

to spirit filled Christmases
of opened mouths and angels lying
in the yard outside the front door.

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