Treacherous Conditions

The wind strokes its icy fingers through my hair,
Pulling and tangling in its enthusiasm
At having found a playmate that allows its affections.
 
The snow feathers kisses on my cheeks, my eyelashes
Complimenting my pale skin with its own icy complexion
Trying to draw the rose in my blood to my cheeks.
 
The deepest black in the heart of the ice returns
The glare I direct at it, uncaring for my disdain
Or the hatred the other elements feel towards it.
 
The blue in my lips cannot be matched by any
Save the paint on the car that fell prey to the ice;
Ice that only wanted to see how much life is in
A drop of blood as it unwinds from my mouth.