“Cold,”  you said with heated words
Masked by tenderness and longing -
Just as though ice pierced your heart
And stayed there, lost and wandering.
“Not distant, though, just looks like snow,”
Genuine or insincere?
I suppose it doesn’t matter
Though the latter’s all I fear.

I just couldn’t help but wonder
What my eyes strike you as now -
Are they still as frozen or as guarded
With pain you won’t allow?
Does the memory stick - that awful lick
Of fire in my throat?
Now you have watched them melting
And have let them die unstoked.