Mountains of ice

Each time I dream of you beloved I am over you, writhing. You are encased in a block of ice. Each time before I have reached to your chest only to find the ice there. This night I touched beneath it but found not flesh. Instead, a shield of metal. It is hammered smooth but has the scent of a refrigerator door. There is still ice over it’s edges but I think the shape nearly heart-shaped.

Likely it is but a dream. Still, in the next I will see if it may be removed. Will it reveal an empty cavity, chest opened and heart taken by wolves?



About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
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