climatic comparison

I live where the cold pierces through my outer layer
like tiny shards of glass.
Where making love is blind as a snowstorm,
where once it tantalized the senses,
and the places that were warmed.
I am beginning to forget
what it was like coming in from the heat
to air conditioning, and adding to the humidity of the house.
With the glistening sheets, cloudy backboard mirrors and bare feet,
as the artificial sixty-nine degrees
turns on once again.

With hands and breasts, temperature matters.
The beauty in losing the down comforter,
with the cavernous, soft duvet.
To leave skin exposed, as
a lover's soul in quiet conversation.
Again to play, and allow for that lost ability
to tremble with desire of such things,
that have nothing to do with snowstorms.

Reviews

[Kara Emily Krantz]

damn it this is just fantastic my dear. :) :) :) :)

"Where making love is blind as a snowstorm,
where once it tantalized the senses,
and the places that were warmed. "

i loved that right away, but then the entire second verse is basicaly flawless.

::sigh::... i need to spend some more time with this. i think it holds more than i caught at first glance. i loved the image of the down comforter, and the use of the word 'duvet'.. it sat so smoothly with the images and the poem.

wonderful piece!

[Not Afraid of Bruises]

I loved this poem, but the first line really doesn't do it justice. As for the rest, you've used great images and strong flow. Well crafted