Igloo

It would all come to be routine:

the drips that fell on our eyelids

jarring us awake at daybreak,

the handfuls of ice we'd gather

for patching our sun-scathed walls.

 

Even the murky breaths we'd part

with our frostbitten fingertips,

the bedside stories we'd whisper

against our cold, moonlit walls.

 

Still, the ice on your eyelashes,

your voice like waxed violin strings,

your smile that curls like a wick:

I needed them. You knew this.

 

You knew this so you stayed with me.

You stayed when I tipped our lantern,

when drips fell in our open eyes.

You stayed while our igloo gave way.

Reviews

[Poeticpiers]

Takes me back a long way to when I was small and our winters were much worse.Pretending to be eskimos in our self built igloos But ours is the wrong kind of snow always too wet. Still I enjoyed he nostalgic journey Well presented indescriptive poetic prose

[Rosary]

This ones alot better very creative however i dont like how the last line fits with the rest of the poem.

[CJ]

i loved it....descriptive....picture in my my.....great comparisons....keep it up