Girl at the corner of King & Yonge

She wears water on her skin:
welts of cold and melted snow.
Her brittle lashes crack
as a warning. Her coldness comes
from the january breath of lovers
who have stolen her heat, left
whispered adorations that clung
in frost to her neck and breasts,
licked with tongues that stuck
to her in passion and kept the skin,
leaving little raw patches
where the cold crept in
and settled into bones.