The ceaseless eyelash stems they darken,
Inky tails are black-smudged, viscous,
They pinch-prick rotund dusty cold drops,
Melting pits of sunken space.
Tokun' tokun' goes the warming,
Sliding, drinking cold drop pieces
We own no wildness, as they wither,
Snaking silver trails on milky skin.
Under thinness, mouths are creasing,
Splitting wide, and cracking deep: freezing
Thumb prints on the wall-stone, watch them
Bloom a passion flower, purple thumbs are tickling
Tickling; my sparse and cold-bit hands.
See how shaking numbness stretches!
Then slap the hand shank on the frost wall,
Behold the water smooth and blacken
Under fingers, shapely, small. Pressing
Colours from the nail tips; tracing outlines
Into the fabric. Inside smells are washed and plumping.
Watch, as snow cakes shoulders whole.
© copyright Eve Redwater 2011