Winter
cries out
for warmth.

Remember
those lovely
lost girls,

hot as poems
penned with
the Devil's
own ****,

vivid as movies
never seen.

Who they were,
where they went,

unknowable,

names lost
in time.

Yet,
in memory,
anonymous
faces and bodies
flare and warm
the soul

one last time.

Warmth
for winter,

proof against
the frozen
emptiness

of departed
desire.

  ~mce