On snowstorm nights the lilac sky hangs in the balance,
Lighter than the feather it rises up, up, up like lost party balloons
And the stardust falls like old firework sparks between pricked hair
It lands on the rubbish from fall like a crystalline white blouse over erect nipples in frosty air
Cold-shivers are orgasmic
And toes curl under sheets of ice
Footprints mar fresh womanhood
And shouts turn to ice as they leave blue lips
In spring they melt female to make way for testosterone sun
That burns snow skin like cattle brands— hot
They yell on fire-breath like acrobats in Arabian orange
Scorching feminine and leaving maleness in their wake