Art-Appreciattion

The temperature is dropping on this side of the world where leaves spin like a paradox into my fist; I swallow a breath of stillness. The release is a shade of gray I can't remember now but it clung to your lips, freezing in it's revery of the contrast of white on white. The words began to look like a murder black wings struggle to be freed, but continue to fade into the rays of light spanning between us. But this fragile truce is just a child's castle cardboard and wisps of shadow holding up the dreams we claim to have painted. So we simply watch the beads of ice suspended in the branches spiderwebbed above us ignoring the s