Untouched, my bones.
Wrapped in skin rent wide,
white, clawed.
Bruises beneath bites.

My mouth, the lips split,
raw in the bitterness
Blown in by your winter.

My eyes see light splintered.
A lake at night, opaque,
the black ice soon pulverized.
Shattered beneath the stones
we threw to witness the night
and the ice injured.

My muscles, aching in exertion,
knotted like ginger.
Still in motion, but all inertia.

My hair, knotted.
Atop my head, nodding.
My acquiescence calling.

But untouched, my bones.
Never exposed to your winter winds,
my bones are mine to control.
You cannot touch my bones.
They will feel nothing,
as they always have.