When the beating sun can't warm my clammy skin.
I am losing this **** fight.
I see her smirk, she knows what I know.
She alone can make me right.
And though I reap just what I sow,
I never thought my chest could feel so tight.
All at once I hear her say, "You can give up, That's okay."
I finally look into her eyes,
She who brought me to my knees.
Suddenly the fight within me dies.
I sink beneath her comfort seas.

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.