Chilling Heat

“The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre-
To be redeemed from fire by fire
[or, at least, to get even more
sizzled by fiery cheekiness]
~ T.S. Eliot [+ a muse gone wild]


Our love lies
under snow curtains
warmed by hope,
singing of spring boons
while frost bites on ears.

If your flesh loses all warmth, my girl, I’d want you still.

I hear
you joke about
falling hard for a frigid girl,
and think, Necrophilia
isn’t cool.

To escape your chilling heat, I’d barbecue your bosom.



the wee notes…
– partly inspired by Fireblossom’s hysterical post, “How Not to Write a Love Poem”, which sardonically says that when poetizing love, a poet should “Use ‘burning’ and all its variations, liberally: Burning lips, fiery fingertips, barbecued bosom…” I’ve been burning to use the phrase “barbecued bosom”, or something like it, ever since. Yes, I cackled (and cringed) after I wrote this.
– this piece contains a tanka, a cinquain, and two self-proclaimed free verses.
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Hedgewitch’s Friday 55.