Frozen side of the sun

The sun having a frozen side~ a wish like a snowball in hell, or netting the wind while oceans b o i l in f i r e. The rage of its heat needs curtailing. I'm melting... like chocolates and candles~ roasting like chicken in an oven. How then do I hide the cry of my fat? With the frozen side of the sun, snowflakes fall but never thaw, painting my doorstep in white, chilling my bones dry, shaking my limbs stiff. Birds hide their faces, and songs become faint echoes in snow-draped distance, while rasping hoots of early-rising snowy owls mimic the whispers of restless winds— announcing the coming of an impending dark sky that will not abate the ceaseless dropping of white flakes. I'm b o i l i n g— a tempest brewing, not as a boiling frog syndrome but like a fish out of water in a slough of despond. My skin scathes, heat burns leave sores on my soles. Long rays of shine pierced my sunshade; sweat formed oceans on my skin. And I whispered— in the absence of ears— "I need the frozen side of the sun."