Stone set—
rigid and cold and held in it's grip
but I thank it's hardheadedness for supporting me now.
Snow blistered—
stained and splayed by sanguinous touch
but I still smell the fresh falls and frigid boughs.
Breath panged—
quick and shallow with chill lingering on lip
but it's just stuck in her lungs, and like limb will, too, sever.
Teeth grit—
lockjaw keeping wound fresh in the clutch
but I savor her movements, her words, now more than ever.