Our conversation stung
like winter upon my tongue,
and every breath frosted in pain.
I spit out blizzards
as you thunder out your response.
Iced over eyes and I cast a flurry
of disappointment in your direction.
I was ice.
I was a tempest.
I was snow, and I blended
myself into the background.
My anger formed drifts between us
and by the time we went to bed,
The icebergs of resentment
formed a mountain range of stubbornness
and silence divided us.
Poetic Trials 