Our winter love ruins; I was once scolded by the hand that taught me
but now it leaves me cold and,
although our brief candle has nearly burnt itself out, I love you too much,
and it still isn’t enough.
I’ve had a thousand loves but they’ve all died a thousand deaths,
soon I’ll be left with nothing again;
unpicked and overripe in our frosted bed; there is nothing left to feel
when you have lost all hope.
Where do you go if you’re already on your knees?
I gave you my heart but you took my mind in the process,
so now I’m left solid, a glass glacier of dreams,
and I can’t stand your frigid abortioning; I want to ignite myself to feel again
- my doctor does not recommend that.
Cadaverous kisses simply prolong our illness but our parts are frozen together
forever, all still and dead with our ice-covered hearts.