This morning’s frost looked beautiful but
it bites my neck and makes my muscles ache.
My fingers have become a fading white.
My breath’s condensing on my nose. It drips.
I brew more cups of tea to warm within
but even this becomes draining,
necessitating even more trips to the bathroom.
I fear to look in the mirror.
Will anything be there? Or is, as I suspect,
the cold in truth a thirsting vampire with
its fangs open in sharp and siphoning anger.

It’s cold…
(01.12.23)

© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by David Hellmann on Unsplash