A dizzy flake of snow falls, perfectly balanced, upon one outstretched finger's squat end. It clings tight for a second- a sticky, icy second where I hold with fragile care the weak sliver, and my breath. Yet, the next moment, only water my digit holds up. It melts away instantly with the dry warmth I supply, and I find that, always, all the delicate, pretty ones with exquisite tender grace burn out ever the fastest, first. So snowdrop kisses, on the frosty, red nip of my nose now only make me shiver. It's all just skin and ice, and more ice and skin. Peels of snow and chips of freeze make chilled my blood and glazed eyes.