The peak of winter

The peak of winter
Poetry is frozen the world.
I dream of blood.
Blood dripping from my womb
Smearing my dining table
Where I treat my guests;
Leaving marks on paper bits
It evaporates.
The faded stain remain.
It is warm
Stops me from shivering
Stops me from freezing
But it is still winter
And poetry is frozen.
I need a hot hand, a touch
So hot that it I will burn
And set poetry burning.
The ice set ablaze
Dripping scalding drops
Each drop an emerald
Priceless.
The format of love,
An ever-evolving thesis,
The touch
I wait.

-1992 December