lost in
the fractals
sketched in
frost
down the
glass
a
cataract
blinding
the all-
seeing eye
of fate
i trace
the whorls of
lady winter’s
delicate
fingerprints
longing to
feel her
fingers softly
laced with
my own as i
stare into
her lovingly
oblivious gaze
lost in
the rapture
etched in
frost
down my
spine
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
I recently learned that window frost patterns are actual fractals, not just random patterns. Perfect poem to read on this ice-storm day!
LikeLiked by 1 person
we have had mild rain so far, but any minute thenice supposed to return. stay warm, my friend.
LikeLiked by 1 person