Freeze Me

September 1, 2010
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Bluish pale.
A shiver of frost creeping over the tides of air.
Nudging so softly, like cotton wisps, before disappearing.
But not disappearing.
Sinking into me, the sweet Novocain of coldness turning.
Into a stinging pain.
That sends my highly advanced brain back to the raw times of caves and fire and lonely nomadic nights in the wilderness.
Stay warm, stay heated.
I can’t feel my body, only the quivers that shiver me from head to toe. Delicately and artfully done. My tender skin is ice against ice. Like frozen dew found on a snowy morning.
I blink hard, eyes dry. Wanting only to burn in the sun.
To let my skin fry and crack and sizzle and singe like bacon against
A scalding, greased pan.
I want to feel swear dripping down my neck, weighing my clothes to my body like flypaper.
I want to lick my lips and yearn for water.
“Time to go, Honey,” my mom’s voice says.
So I stand up, and walk outside, away from the freezing, air-conditioned diner.

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