My rose peeks out of my mouth
as it takes in the rivered sense of tastelessness.
But cool, the small white flake melds into saliva.
Around me, those flakes free-fall, collecting on the dirt
like dust on an old man’s mantel.
Silence comes to dwell here.
And noise is a stranger.
shudderingwords 
nice snow, i
wish i could see it
It is pretty!! I’ll tell you, though: it is hard to drive in.
ur lucky in my country no snow