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.