The Coldness Shivers

The coldness shivers as though it could feel itself
heaving like my lover’s heart, packed on ice
a gift for men and gods and angels from above
to wonder at the spectacle of modern medicine
and the spectacle of modern love

I hate the coldness of the walls, the coldness
of the stares from people who cannot afford to care
the coldness from the cold itself, with its wicked
sharp tongue, rebuking me for ever believing
that I could hold love inside my hands like
the tickling wings of a butterfly

The coldness whispers in my ears
slowing my heart with a gentle word
until I cannot move, cannot think
until life is too hard to live and death takes
too much effort to greet, until I sink into a heavy sleep

But coldness is cruelty in its hardest form
sleep will not accept me, frigid as I am, like the
sun baked sands will not accept a slender fish with love
instead it locks me in a cave, absent of wonder,
staring at the walls, until a woman falls on my neck
crying, weeping, thankyouthankyou, she does not melt the cold