Frost

Its fingers were hot
and cold and
sweet and dark.
All at the same time.

Sleeeeep. 

It whispered in her ear.
Her petals shivered.
Its breath ran slowly
down
her stem and
tickled a leaf.
Its cold hands poked her forehead
And a root snapped.

Sleeeeep.

It said again.
Another petal shivered,
drooped,
almost ready to fall.
But not
quite yet.
It pressed its thumb 
into the petal's palm.
The sweet crisp smell of burnt summer
stung and froze
another root.
The flower swayed
and
snapped back into place.

Resssssst.

It pushed back her hair
and kissed her cheeck
and the touch was so cold
and yet –
so solidifying.
Powerful.
Another root began 
to freeze, gently,
as if being put down for a soft nap.
As the wind spun a slow circle around her,
making up
her midnight
garment.
It waved a hand in front of her eyes,
slowly,
each finger
made of billions of crystals,
all reflecting her own figure.
She leaned in to get a better look.

Slummmbbeerrrrrrrr

It breathed into her ear,
into the seed of her heart
and through the veins of
her cells
and over her
scalp and
under her ribcage,
gently,
of course,
so as not to break her,
simply to let her lie down,
wrapped in its soft,
cold,
sweet,
dark
embrace,
its breath smelling of
diluted sea spray and mint,
wrapped in layers of
frozen earth
and
Tomorrow.