Adelaide Miller

the frost
          on 
          my skin
                    is 
                    thicker than 
                                     the 
                                         blood 
	                                           in
                                                   my veins.
                                                                  a 
                                                                  drowning
  				                                       warmth
                                                                                  burrows
                                                                                          into 
                                                                                             the pit of 
                                                                                                         my
                                                                                                          stomach.
                                                                                                                  what 
                                                                                                                        is left when 
                                                                                                                                 the ice                        
                                                                                                                     concedes
                                                                                                                     to the  
                                                                                                        pleasures
                                                                                                        of 
                                                                                       fire-trailing
                                                                                       fingers? 
                                                                           flowers
        							           are 
        				                       blooming 
        				                       in 
          					 antarctica.
                                                 what 
                                       am i to do
                                       when 
              the cold is washed 
              away
and all that is
left is 
the whisper 
 of 
 sunbeams?