The heat crawls up and slides over me
like a hot rubber glove,
lathering me with sweat like greasy
dish soap water ringing the sink
where the casseroles soak.
Lying in the tepid dishpan water
of my body’s own making;
I am Woman; Smell my aura.
I want to creep into the freezer
and sit atop the ice cube tray.
Offering myself like an arctic delicacy
to cool your drink and soothe
your fevered brow with my glacial caress.
Resting my head on the frozen peas,
I would curl, fetal and fresh, hot on cold,
sizzling, melting the ice cream.
Frigid and frosty, I slip under the sheet,
slithering up next to your warmth,
shocking you with the cold of me;
Startled, you turn, frozen but thawing.
Your tongue, where it touches me,
sticking and staying, steaming
and playing, as ice meets lava.
Snowstorm and vapor winter time love.
— Elaine Pedersen ©