Ice Fissures

Spheres of air are trapped in the fibrous fissures.

A million ends of cilia resonating in my ear,

Vibrating my mind down a silent gauntlet of blurred memories.

The tether of vision slips the loop of modesty

And goes slack over a hemisphere of abdomen.

A sunbath besides a glass of naked ice, beneath a cobalt blue sky.

From behind a strangled trellis, your body fades into view,

Like a frosty exhale from the broken seal of a meat locker.

You split the air with the velocity of katydids

Teeming in the dogwoods.

Another ice cube alarms and cracks open

Just as your bathrobe falls to rest around those winged feet.

I retrace the white terry cloth contrails up the contours of your body

To where I imagine gravity pulling it off those wax smooth shoulders.

Stepping out of a plush pile of white onto the cool decking,

You just stand there, like a melting stalagmite,

Only with a bit more contrapposto,

Lightly browned and accumulating a glistening of sweat.

I hear the purling of water as you wade in.

The edge of the glass is tilted over my lip,

And through it, I can make out your rippling image,

 As another ice cube hisses and then snaps