Where It's Not Cold (Or Shouldn't Be)
I was the ice you stood on,
a cold sheet to crack and go beyond the surface of.
I was afraid you would fall,
but you could walk without sliding,
getting traction with every step.
I liked your sorcery.
My sighs would hang in the frigid air
until you waved away the vapor
and laughed at the science of it all.
I tried to winnow the snow from your hair,
apologizing.
You said it was fine.
I thawed beneath your body,
frenzied in my flirtations with Summer.
Then, frost gently smothers
the sleeping autumn yellows;
this is how we watch each other go.
Slow transition, inevitable solstice.
I make friction with my hands
as I watch it come.
I am the ice that no one stands on,
dreaming of a place where water flows.