Frozen Passion

I can picture a passion that’s just as red, like a rose.
Petals resting gently against pure white, snow flakes
drifting down, settling on silky pillows of rose petals

The dark landscape melting against the fantastic white
Breaths puffing, exhaling visual life, its essense
Rosey cheeks, cold noses, yearning eyes

Delicate cold fingers grade a jawline,
the lips of a lover will quiver
Their eyes close as they kneel
facing each other, the warmth
of the crackling fire melting away
the chill from their bones

She opens her eyes first, finger tips
still tracing, entwining themselves
into a mess of droplet jeweled
hair

The expression melts as she stares,
just watching
listening
to soothing constancy of his breath

In quietly

out with a catch in his chest

as everything could’ve that
could’ve been on their minds
drip away,

along with their reserve,
the rose sits on the oak,
petals glistening with
melted snow

waiting for the time to die
but to be replaced and rekindled
once more
as the cycle of love and

separation

continues

the dissonance of love and separation
brings to life a more powerful passion
that is always resurrected
through
constancy

 

©Terrah Short 2010

(Written 10-2-10)

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