Jack Frost

Just thought I would write a poem. And Jack Frost kinda just snuck into my mind.


1. Jack Frost

The wind brushed my cheek.

Gently, but with strenght enough to rip of an arm.

I felt his gaze at my back. So cold. Freezing.

But yet it made my heart flutter,

and my palm so warm.

My cheeks were burning,

and his touch were so light.

Slowly, he slid his fingers down my arms.

He leaned towards me in a romantic gesture.

And placed a light kiss near my lips.

Whenever his fingertips touched my skin,

It felt like a thousand butterflies moving within.

I remember thinking. I must have hope.

For no soul lives forever,

yet he is more than 300 years old.

Many moons have passed since then.

60 winters of the past.

But never since then I've felt his gaze at my back.

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