I don't like you now, in the bleak midwinter... You get too enthusiastic, if that makes sense. Frisky to the point of pain. I may be a bit masochistic but you've become too much for me. You want to play when I'm trying to get to important meetings, when I'm trying to climb stairs, when I have other things on my mind, and lemme tell you, it's getting old.
You lie in wait outside doors, creeping over the eaves of my childhood home. you point and laugh from rooftops everywhere I go... waiting for your moment. You backstabber. Your icicle fingers of malice tricked me in the summer months. You were so chill, so sexy, as you traced my body with your melting heart... You always made the best daiquiris...
Now you lie in wait disguising yourself as the ground, stalking me, but it's okay. I've always loved you better in the summer. You're somewhat of a fair-weather friend. I get that.
And I like you in small doses, so I await the days of sunshine and your creamy texture.