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Below Zero MAG
I am cold
like the frosted gray of a winter sky,
cold like the stale cough of a freezer
I freeze
like the water-glaze on a windshield in December,
like the blue-pink toes of a snowbathing child.
I am cold like your smile, chapped and thin,
cold like your laughter, like your pale green stare.
You are an ice-sculpture, my friend;
I am cold when you touch me,
when I close my eyes and feel your fingertips
solid as chilled bone
against my downturned cheek.
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