Poem 61 – The Touch of Frost

The touch of frost caresses me, running
It’s icy fingers across my earthly skin
And tracing limb and fold they penetrate
With cold embrace that draws from me a moan
Its bitter kiss breathes chill into my bones
An intimacy that lasts until love thaws

We woke today to find the outside world white with frost, a magical scene, at least from the warm indoors that is!

© Ben Quant 2021

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