Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

Oh, how I love to taste fresh-fallen snow!
—say this into a crowded room, then wait.


The person who would dare to ask if you
would eat the yellow snow—this is your foe.
Them you shall punish there and then; expel
the heartless miscreant out from the polis.

Then go and fix your broken maidenhead;
repair your shattered innocence with bliss
when, stood before the biggest window there,
you’d give the night your hand and seal your love


for gentle snowflakes
                                with a tender kiss.