goldenrod aura light

  your aurora eyes

  scan the sky like skittish wind

  you are pollen in an arctic land

  wrinkle embraces smile

  lost white comes uncertainly

  there is a clear heaven scent

  so cold

  so February

  so grave

  it muffles dawn

  I am ice that will never be water

  burning cold, like an opposite sun

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  too bright to focus on

  I wish to warm your hands

  before the wealth of spring

  to melt winter

  into fire whistling tea

  to warm

  your sore throat

  to immerse

  your unmarked skin

  to pour

  over glowing coals

  almost gone

  but steam never illuminates

  the burns it leaves

  as deep as any flame

  it has no calligraphic sharp tongue

  to write

  the words all lovers want to wear

  - Kat Isacson