Between Frost and Fire

You must be somewhere between frost and fire

the way you dangle me, hopelessly tangled up in wire,

weaving and breathing our shared air in a calculated way

just in case the slightest movement might frighten you away.

To say that you are frost is hardly true, composed as you are,

quiet composer conducting electricity through your soft melody of scars.

It chills me how easily you can read my thoughts

like old friends finishing each other’s sentences. I get caught

up in your passions, old fashioned and modern.

It blinds me how brightly you burn

intensely, intently like a child

but glinting, feverishly hinting, fervently wild.

You must be somewhere between frost and fire--

something I cannot help but to admire

and pose this inquiry,

How could I not love thee?