Within desolate winter
and the twisted terrain
of intestines,
lay your frigid, lonely soul,
hopelessly hibernating, waiting
for the breath of spring
to stir your
subdued spirit.
You were saved
by scalding water, melting
a hole in the whole
of darkness.
The flames licked the internal passage
of your body,
into a canal of feeling,
and you were wading within
its warmth.
The burning was intoxicating,
so copious, it came close
to blistering your heart.
It was severe and searing
almost like being
dead.
The fiery facade dwindled
again into tangled wilds
and starless nights,
leaving the chill to burn
your soul, forever
boiling.
Anna Snader
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