Cold Dance

Poetry Sunday

Photo by Marco sama on Unsplash

We float tall on freezing water
—driftwood.

We slide across the frosty slush,
—flatfoot.

We run over melting ice cubes,
—barefoot.

Stopping only to kiss and melt some more,
—all good.

In a final embrace there’s little trace
of our restless moment turning dance
as we melt into a splash of romance.
The icy water glistens like a glaze.