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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.