Fire and Ice by Victor Henry

He was fire; she was ice.
He burned deep abyss chasms for her.
She was cool, indifferent, unattainable.
He wrote poetry to her in the early morning hours,
Words filled with lust and love, with an intense longing for her.

She acted like he didn’t exist,
Never speaking to him,

At the end of her day, she laughed at him
Like a harlot on heroin,
Like a femme fatale in and out of love.

In the end she drove a cold stake through his warm heart.
A message that said simply, Don’t fuckin’ mess with me.

Victor Henry
My poetry and prose poems have appeared in Misfit Magazine, Dead Snakes, Homestead Review, The Paterson Literary Review, Red River Review, and Slipstream, among others. My book What They Wanted was published last November 11th, Veterans Day, by FutureCycle Press in Lexington, Kentucky.

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