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.