More snow this morning and a heavy frost promised for tomorrow.

Today's poem was written while I was a passenger, in France, with an old (young!) flame, going south. The setting sun, as I headed eastwards on my way home this afternoon, burned an orange patch in my driver's mirror - and I knew I was going in the wrong direction.

The frosted flame of time  

The first time, two
All take, no give
Eyes closed, searching for love
With fumbling fingers
Clouded orifice
No substance

As the minutes slip past
She materializes
A shoulder, lip, her arm
And he takes form
His hips, ankles, elbows, wrists
Snap into focus

Eyes wide, absorbing every detail
Eyes glazed, holding on to a memory
Of who we used to be
The tantalizing promise of happiness
Laid bare
In the frosted flame of time 

To see other poems, visit my website: annerainbow.me.uk