In The Meantime Poem by Stephen Thomas

The cold sudden tap of a perfect finger
Gathered round my back
I turned like fall to winter
And fell like snow to the sensation of your being

I am not that which to tell the seasons to change
Nor rob the soil of its frost
So I turned to embrace
Let nature run its course to saturate upon spring

There in orbs, ice turned to crystals
Hazel stalactites
Pointing inward toward pupils
Where I once again began to lose myself

You past your hand to mine
Like wine chilled by an early frost
Slowly bringing warmth by numbing pain
Or any reason to obtain more than this

Yes, here we stand – frozen
Bound by icicles where fingers touched at last
When all the while, springtime hovers
Like the flakes that now slowly descend

Take heart – this will all be over soon
And in our memories we will splash
Such as the puddles under our feet –
Winter giving way to new life