Winter Skeletons

Winter is the time of confessions, 

Illusions shattered, when the thin veneer of decorum

Starts to crack after it freezes

It is in the winter that the skeletons

Vacate the closets and crawl into bed with you

Where you huddle under the blankets for warmth

Almost slipping into blissful ignorant sleep

Until you catch hold of a bony finger and jerk yourself awake

It is always winter when we allow others to see these alabaster visitors

Sometimes we allow them to walk with us

When the icy white sky mirrors their bones