Ice--A poem

[lunesque]

My hands are cold.
I am like the frozen lights shining on the wet streets;
full of gunmetal silence
and stolen moonlight.
I appropriate words from flaccid mouths,
and wonder why I am nothing more
than a ghost;
nothing more than self-pity
in the dark of midnight.
My heart is as cold as the snow
falling from the heavens;
we both melt away with the dawn.