Winter.

Cold kisses,
warm liquids,
muffled giggles,
cozy blankets,
old poems,
scented candles,
soft melodies,
fresh flowers,
dim lights,
interlaced fingers,
whispered secrets,
clumsy waltzes,
dizzying twirls,
racing heartbeats,
stolen glances,
cheek caresses;

If only winter did not have to end,
You must know I really could love you.

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Happiness.

You walk past two children
playing in the sand
by the construction site
where their parents toil all day
in order to afford a single meal;
their clothes scarcely clothes
but holes with cloth around them,
their young faces
painted thick with grime
contrasting their pale white teeth
as they laugh
with a joy that only children own,
and you wonder: perhaps,
they could teach you what happiness is.