Daffodils blossomed; I slowly thawed out,
Extinguished enough 
          To speak
                      To you.
I laid all the scars on the table:
The frostbite, 
          The third degree,
Everything you had done to me.

Back when our leaves lost luster, 
I danced 
          With another.
I had a beautiful cup of chamomile, 
Here in front of me:
          Mild and sweet and calm.
Then you gave me a second shot, 
          If I was willing.
                    Was I willing?
I caught again that remote, spiced smell.
Blonde espresso,
          Lightly roasted,
                    Slightly nutty,
That quickened my pulse but scorched my roof.

Was it too good to be true?
That you had me? 
          That I had you?
We shared a cone, 
          Talked ‘til late.
          A week later—
Not worth the work, no time to travel.
I was silent—
          Frozen solid yet 
                    Burning alive.