You come to me at night,
Your hair unbound, each curl a flame
That sears my skin like ice.
Each word we speak is ice,
So hush. Be silent in the night.
Let frost give way to flame.
Each fingertip like flame,
Like rain–each kiss is laced with ice.
Oh, when will it be night?
It takes us each: the night, the flame, the ice.
Participating in yeah write’s December poetry slam! This is a tritina. I was given the words night, flame, and ice.