The angel of freezing death rolls dice in hand

I am her favorite number. I am destined for heaven

It’s not stone she holds. The angel makes ice

Love me first, she whispers. I want you with me tonight.

Her voice hovers above me

Like a snowstorm, she is everywhere

Her fingers are an icy kiss, a brush cross my neck. 

Her lips turn my bones to the permafrost of our bed

She is a coat around me, the satin burning like sleet

Touch me darling. Her breath leaves snowflakes on my eyes

I feel you, I cry. Kiss me again.

Her fingers are a snowy lace 

The filaments disintegrate under my heart.

Suddenly I glow, burn red hot in the airy snows

Is this passion, are we fire, 

Am I burning, is she my pyre?

- Who’s undressing who? -

When the morning sun arises

I, an angel, am the first ray of light

Is my skin stone or ice?

A blueberry could camouflage among my lips.

She spread a halo, left me on a drift

With hair of stalactites 

And a face gouged with sparkling icicles.