I am born beneath the ministrations
Of frozen, aching hands.
Blinking through eyes of coal,
Mouth twisted in its fixed pebble smile.
Dazzling white snow adorned with a lover’s caress.
Icy limbs constricted in your winding coarse scarf
Turned to silk by your touch.
The crunch of snow hard against my back,
Hot breath trailing pools of molten ice
In the clefts of my frigid flesh.
Is this what it is to become a woman?
Entombed in the crescendo of a blizzard,
Adrift from the false safety of warmth,
Alone with the blazing of your skin -
A moment; eternity.
Somewhere in between.
Deadly golden arrows pierce
The fragile shield of snow clouds.
Scorching, wrenching my fleeting form apart
With cruel efficiency. The roads clear.
In your wake you leave a puddle of scattered stones;
A forgotten scarf, bereft; lost in a gust of snow.