your touch is a figure skater

i’m sorry

that i feel empty.

i’m sorry

that your touch

is merely a figure skater—

trying to create beautiful art

with the swirl of a fingerprint

on my icy skin;

i’m sorry

that the freezing water of my soul

would blister you,

remove the warmth of your

fingertip;

i’m sorry

that contact with me

would stop you from

making that beautiful art

(oh how you float and skip and twirl above the ice);

i’m sorry that i would make you still.

so you see

you should not touch me

or dance near me

because if you fall,

i will make you cold, too.