Little snowflakes, little chalky
wafers, you flutter outside my
window. I stick out my tongue but
still cannot taste your
chill. There is a cold I cannot
catch! If you could nip, or bite--
close your arctic fingers around
my throat. Not this, not
this falling down without
frostbite, without numb.
I'm weary of watching
you wobble, stark as
bone, lifeless as the
shavings of a fingernail.