With first humid hints of summer heat,
I am already molten with misery –
a polar ice creature of northern inclinations
meant only for a glacial love.
My heart shimmers with a rime
of jagged-edged hoarfrost stars
at the first blue blink of my lover's cool face.
My icy hands quake at his shuddering sides,
knuckling a frigid rib cage
where a gelid pulse knocks loose
prickling icicles of frosted flatteries:
I love you best in chilblains,
I nip you loose with frostbite,
I shiver your bones to a snowy white,
the snap of a Siberian gust binding
a jewelling of diamond ice chips
to your stiffened lashes, your sweet sherbet mustache,
the fine, golden hairs of your reaching arms
turned platinum and shining silver.
Enfold me in a white flurry,
blizzard my kisses into goose flesh,
warm me to crystal ice, my ice into white-flamed warm,
a hailstone storm of pooling fresh melt
of arctic joy.
I shall not love again until winter.
.
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