AlwaysHungry
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2010
- Posts
- 1,522
Maine you piled the snow like no one wanted,
filling colorless empty days with drifting.
We would shovel and plow guy locks us back in
breathing plumes of thin air, red of face, frozen,
iced December when sliding Hannaford bound,
Miles blowing in time as blades in motion
swipe us clear into night and twinkle season.
I like it, but I see a small problem. Based on the definitions offered by Tzara, I think that "thin air" may be a spondee. In reading your poem, I have the impulse to give those two syllables equal weight.