Cold Hands – a poem

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​​​​​​Delicious, the arms tingle with gooseflesh,

Creeping, wintry cold veins burn, nerves

Aligned with temperatures dankly frozen

Down to slowest Siberian hypothermic

Glaciers.

*

Slow dissonance crawls, a torn waveform,

Oscillation broken, ripped envelope hoard

Glowing, opened without warning, dripping

In tingling trickles down every nerve,

Piercing.

*

Kelvin is no longer suitable to measure

The cold of these twitching hands, their

Virus all internal, manifest in feel

Without any warmth, or rime of frost,

Numbing.

*

Trap trick hitch distortion spikes roll

In strange forms melting along lines

Too stark yet unseen, the cold creeps

Like midnight hoar fractal patterns

Screeching.

*

Hell’s heart shan’t stand a singular chance

Compared to this temperature, measured

By degrees of vacuum, ice nebulae narrow

Holding the collection of space frozen

Horrors.

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