Schnee

 I remember the last snow,

how it melted into your cheek 

and caressed your skin. 

With shivers and slight amusement,

the blush on your face spoke 

of how much you felt that moment. 

I admired that happiness,

the innocence of your eyes 

and the depth of your soul. 

How could you betray them? 


With a solitude so dear, 

you looked at me,

and the way you dressed me 

with blossoms of your heart,

as you patiently waited,

a jewel made of abundant scars,

I had never seen you so full,

so raw with emotions

and so deliriously oblivious. 

How could you betray yourself?


As you made the snowman,

the soft hands freezing with desolation,

you looked at me and said,

“Isn't it perfect?”

Oh, how could anyone ever doubt 

the perfection of those hands!

But in the redness of them,

in their overlooked hostility,

those perfect hands tore you. 

How could they betray you? 


My dear,

can you not see the horror 

your beautiful eyes have painted?

Can you really not see this hypocrisy?

I wish I could melt like the snow,

but I hope you see,

I will never be that beautiful.

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