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.

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