Permafrost

big eyes the size of stars

up close, the real truth, nothing.

so lost in deep thought,

the comprehensive. those

orbs floating in your head are

worlds with more life

than Earth. it's a greater accomplishment

than any book she's ever

written in ink from empty

bottles. the pupil fills the page,

running like bleeding mascara,

so black, so cold, no one to hold

in the cave burrowed in hard,

icy snow.

she used to get high off

the thrill and the blow, but

it's not filling like it should,

not even close.

the squeezed lemon is too bitter

to drink and not enough

to quench thirst. dropped on cut flesh

it's murder in the first degree. failed

marriage vows, promises raw in

intention, poison to the soul.

and where are we, lover? when the

sheets are stripped away, if my body

is torn, ripped, and buried in the packed

snow, will you love me? write of me?

kiss the air I left? am I worth solitude

until death? choose wisely.