cat-like grin

XIII

winter sets her teeth into our arms

cat-like grin stretched out across the mountains, trapping the world in ice chrysalis to see who survives.

the ones that make it see vast things

crooked things, sprinkled over with starlight through the spindles and spines of old trees,

things with stronger hands and marbled eyes that remind us

of ourselves from summers ago.

the world bends beneath her foot, ribs peeking out from beneath drifts, shoulders pushing up through the pale snow to reach the sunlight that gives off no warmth.

these were my hands earlier,

but now they’re made of black ice.

can i hold you with these?

it’ll burn – but the scars will heal, and you’ll forgive me.

you always do.

she always said she didn’t trust the people that said they loved winter.

the masochists, the tormented; the eyes that enjoyed things in their decay.

but i think we’ve all grown fond of the sarcophagus now –

the way it wrinkles down across the fields,

turning and snapping in the light like a crystalline necklace someone dropped on the way.

we speak peacefully of the rivers encased, and sometimes i think we hope it’ll snow on the weekends

just so we can stay inside.

these were our bodies earlier,

but now it’s just cold on the inside.

my heart beats slow

bones ice over

blood thickening

holding you with two weak hands and half a breath that hangs in the air between us,

like we’re children pretending we can smoke, blowing out like this is New York City

breathing in like we’re jaded artists that refuse to go home.

winter sucks the blood from our necks,

but we rest in her arms and allow it.

fighting is for the summer months.

now we ease into fitful sleep, arms wrapped around each other in our see-through tombs, waiting for a morning when the sun comes up and melts the feeling

back into our fingers.