I've always loved the spark in your soul,
The fire that melts my core, so cold;
The glint in your eye when we playfully fight,
The smile that shines and brightens the night.
Never can your searing spirit be lost,
Not when foliage fertile turns to frost;
Not when kisses and punches on our balcony place;
Not when you solace and strangle me in your embrace;
Not when on the rail of the balcony you sit;
Not when rough hands do wander and fingers do flit;
Not when fondness and fighting make you scream frantic, "Stop!"
Not when ice, stories down, you lay broken atop.
Not when blood starts to seep into frosty cracks,
Taunting my hastily heated attacks;
Not as your temperature, rime melting, cease,
And I refreezing it, down on my knees;
Not when your eyes then start to dullen and glaze,
Or when mine in my mortification the same;
Not when I scream, "Help!" into winter night bitter,
Or when I feel your heartbeat's final flitter;
Not when I race up to the rail once again,
Cursing the courtship of two so crushed men;
But your spirit persists as I lay now with you, stark,
And I hope I will follow it into the dark.