POETRY IS ART TOO!

So here is my poem "Four Seasons of Frostbite".
Enjoy.

Everyday her name evaporates off of my tongue,

condensates in the sky and precipitates back into my mind.

The dust fornicates and multiples on my window seals and blinds.

My lashes back flip and tickle my eyes

My esophagus is vacuuming moisture out of my mouth

My throat is the Sahara; hot and dry

The 60% of water flowing in my body has been reduced by 59.

If not for this 1 percent I would surely die.

My yellow sky is fading into red dreams.

I can smell the perfume of insect wings buzzing in the breeze.

These black striped visions of my honey- bee are stinging me on the inside.

My lady- bug is washing her skin- one black spot at a time.

Her wet silhouette is drowning

in curls that define the dip in her lower spine.

I arrive to split her hips and sip the heaven dripping from between her lips

But she keeps changing moods like fall leaves change the hues in their veins.

So I depart.

And in her place, the sun’s rays reach out and kiss my face

I reach back only to be confronted by an invisible pane

I slowly stroke this smooth surface wishing she took its place

As I continue to caress, my fingers begin to numb

At that moment I realized that their characteristics were one in the same; both cold.

Colder than Ice Cube eating frosted flakes

while pooping out Slurpees and pissing out frozen rain on a snowy Friday!

The clouds of breath billowing from in between my teeth Freeze and Tag my knees.

Now I’m unwillingly bowing to the will of winter. It’s so cold outside. I’m barely alive.

The 98.6 degrees heating my endothermic body have been reduced by 98.5.

If not for this 1 degree I would surely die.

The heat that escaped my fetal positioned physique laughs at me

As I scavenge for her, I am a nomad of my own thoughts

While searching, I slip and violently stumble into a valley

My world fades to black.

I awake; my eyes slowly beginning to focus.

I am greeted by a jagged pain in my chest.

I fearfully look down to discover a “hypothermic” needle injecting me

Pinning the divides of my heart to my ribcage

Now my lungs are punctured but not quite collapsed

My heart is barely beating and profusely bleeding.

The 7% of blood running through by body has been reduced by 6.

If not for this 1 percent I would surely die.

I am barley alive. And I could cry about how much colder it’s has gotten outside.

But my tears would die in vain so I dare not cry.

Suddenly, my pain is deferred by this other fluid leaking into my palms.

Gushing in one lung and spilling out the other flows

Love.