Daughter Of A December Sun

You told me, “You’re a beautiful girl,
but you have a lonely heart.”
You told me, “You’re a beautiful girl,
but your cold hands burn.”
The well inside my ribcage
goes all the way down.
You could not imagine the things
it’s caught and kept;
the words it’s drowned.
This depth that makes the damp
creep into my bones to sleep.
You see, I don’t mind the bitter wind
or the ice climbing my window pane
like ivy leaves.
My body’s made the best of it.
But don’t tell me I can’t hold your name
inside my mouth, or your body against my own;
don’t tell me you think your skin
will chap and crack when we kiss.
Do you know there isn’t a word
for my heart yet – for my heat yet
– for my hands that would’ve held onto yours
through anything?
Have you ever stared into the December sun?
I am that girl.
That only. That one.

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