there is a point
when ice, sufficiently chilled,
is of such intensity as to
burn like blackened fire
i stare at the arctic ice
above your smile
awaiting summer’s thaw
gingerly lean too close
but burned by your icy stare
as you measure me
wondering, surely, if
i’ll breach your icy shore
so here i sit in bitter silence
until i touch my frozen flesh
feel, to my surprise the heat
i mistook for cold
though it burns where i touch
my hands move freely, and
my eyes won’t look away
snow-blind, i am, by you
Wow.
Great! Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish one sensation, fire, from the other, frost. 🙂
Thank you very much. That’s what I was going for.
🙂
Tell me what I’m supposed to do.
I wrote this poem in July 2010.
You posted now.
Ok.
I love this. I love this so much
Thanks, sweetie.