One hand on the small of your back

to keep your mind upright 

and your eyes light

as you spill through the door

One hand, on the small of your back,

just the fingertips

propelling you forward on ice

until the blades slice through 
your cowardice.

until the speed you did not acquire

yourself makes you unsure.

Your hand

scraping the floor

It was a fire that froze me,
flames grazed a heart barely beating,
freezing me firm
from a core of embers, heat of great therm,

the standstill of a solid soul,
a final surge of a song shook
from a burning center
riddled with freezing scars; make my words slur

with drunken lips and a harsh breath.
Frozen by passion so intense
I sit by the ice,
Hoping the chill will be my body's vise.

So cold, so cold, the fire swept me
From the arms that held me so dear,
Maybe this iced glow
Melds a chilled, burnt heart, only God will know.

A fire. A fire, I say!
It iced my very bones solid,
His heat left me cold--
He was my sun, the only thing to hold.

I can't rip myself asunder from such a magnanimous prepositional
as this.
While the fishes hang from my window
like little ice-ickles in spring.
So foams the frosty beverage that tells the gills to sing.
Twilight music and the sonnets contained therein
have little left to offer us, save a right-winged jerry-bin.
So the muse of ages goes round and around and around
for the malarkey of a daffodil creates folds and hills
where none exist.

I was fire, and he was ice;
yet he preferred cinnamon,
and I myself did mint.

Cold floors, and colder feet
Cowardly promises always fall through
Cold floors-- thin ice that breaks at the thought
Of being honest
So I'll smile and lie again, too afraid to
Fall.

A little songbird
Once so innocent and free
Now lost, lone, wings clipped
Trudging through the wind and snow
A desolate, ice-locked land

i wanted to scream so loudly
the cells circulating my body would
freeze - sadly, the ice which
settled in my blood cells refused
to cave in. the weight of this
has not left  me yet and she
was more beautiful than a
monarch in flight before
she clipped her wings
clean off and the wind
from the act blew us
all away and i'm failing
in this attempt to discover
any merits in thinking about someone
who is unable to come home

yet i'm still texting her
"please come back".

(The warmth of your chest could've melted the ice in my heart)
I always thought
No matter what
I could seek saftey in your arms
But ****
Your arms were not made to be wrapped around me
And the warmth of your chest and the sound of your heartbeat
Were not mine to keep
(Your heartbeat could've started mine)

I do not know how long this summertime will last
or for how long these roses will bloom.
I do not know for how long we
can put off the winter of our lives.
I do not know the answers to any of these questions.
All I know is that with you by my side
I will weather through these withering winds
and travel down the path of demise.

How long can we battle the darkness of winter?
With my soul strengthened by yours,
forever my Darling. I will fight
and fight the recessing sun  
and still kiss every wrinkle  
and curve of this wilting rose.
As our blood turns to ice,
I will fight and toil.
I will face winter and its wrath
to keep you here with me.
As summertime morphs into winter
I will fight so our souls will combine and
transcend this material world,
so that when winter comes
I face it with you.