You are the like the ice,
the more I try to hold you,
hide you in my heart,
dance in the rhythms of your words,
swim in the depth of your thoughts,
slowly and swiftly touch you in the fear that you may crack,
forget time to travel into you;
the more you melt,
the more you slip from my fist.
But you know where the irony lies?
The more you glissade from my hands,
the more I wait for the nights to freeze you again.
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