Public Face

The cry leaves not my mouth.
Instead, I send it searing downwards
through neck..shoulders...arms
frozen in harsh winters rictus
where it pools .
Where your eyes cannot see,
making one single fist of passion
nails score slices from my palms.

I cannot unlock them
to hold you.
Were I to return your embrace,
that cry so tightly held
in frozen stance
might loose itself upon the world
and I might never let you go.

12/17/05