She comes in the night

seeps in through the cracks and seals them in her wake,

wedging into crevices until they crack.

Sometimes she comes slow,

a steady creep rolling over day and night until no rock goes untouched by her cold caress.

Lithe fingers,

red at the knuckles,

ghost over frost and snow as pale lips kiss each pond frozen.

She dances around you in circles,

stays in one place more than another to taunt you,

you’ll never catch her.

Soft words sting sharp as the wind they’re carried on,

frigid and biting,

burning skin til rose branded nose match december flush cheeks.