Thawed Hands


You fill the hollow spaces with dread silence
Haughty and austere, the distance grows
And breathes its own frosted breath between
The fraying bonds that snap in frigid snows
That burdened us. Pretty whites and purity
Paint the winters of past affections. Obscurity
Was the cloak I wore. But you? Who knows.
Your pale, frosty countenance a mask demure
Before the impassioned blushes of my lust.
The volcanic gushings of our nascent love
Subsumed in glacial musings in this age
Of ice. I quake no more, my love. Just ash
Infernal encased in arctic embraces. And there
Our love remains, entombed and enshrined beneath
Palaces of ice and snow. My cloak is gone.
I stood naked and exposed to the elements, laughing,
Hysterical, delighted, unafraid, sustained by inner
Fire, and the will to love again. Timidly.
Tenderly. I invited you. Foolish. Far too much time
And frosted breaths had past. As it has now,
As I reflect, secure in new pastures,
With new blushes blossoming on my ruddy
Cheeks. Jovial again, alive. I know you graze
In new pastures of your own. I thought… I thought
Past flames of passion deserved a frosty death?!
The refinement to keep a candle vigil in memorial
Was beyond me then. But now, old lover, I remember.
And remembering the warmth we shared, despite
The cold expanse of years, will melt me down.
With the tundra behind, a horizon of temperate climes
Looms before me. I wish you well, love of old.
Thawed hands reach out, eager for new ones to hold.