Jack Frosdt and the Ice Queen

It freezes my breath back against my face back against the wall; stiff as cardboard like frozen washing dragging on the line my skin ignores my bones; icy slush slithers round the veins in my feet and no warm blood dare enter; my fingers red and lumpy like raw sausages, quick-frozen, cannot hold your hand; the air between us is frozen like a board – sound hardly travels in such frost. Grotesque and unreal, I am a hoar-frost demon, and you, apparently, are the Ice Queen. Underground must I hearken back hastily, as you melt away into my past. The sun feebly lights our frosty passions, and you melted away in the heat. Night freezes, and I spring up from dark below but you are melted to a stump. It freezes, my breath back against my face, back against the wall.