The beauty of detachment.

As a frozen pane begins to thaw, 

I smiled, coy, turned my gaze to the side and let

the wicked, white-hot flames rage, 

Behind the glacier iris of my eyes. 


You've probably felt a similar look before,

A warmer climate offered by Jack-fuelled girls with their inhibitions low.

But darling, whilst you've danced with flames, 

You've never been blinded by snow.

The End

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