My Beloved … 
is a harsh and punishing winter wind
Pushing my hot buttons
Testing my love
Testing myself to stay
True to myself
Amidst the howling and growling
I do not run from the mirrors held up
I do not worship the paucity of praise
But humbly sit at those harrowed feet
Intent upon sweet aphorisms falling
From a storm's colossal egress.

(c) 5 February 2012