the Duchess of Ice felt.
One kiss was her heart’s desire,
but with one kiss she would melt.
She dreamed of him in his red pantaloons,
in his orange satin blouse,
in his crimson cravat,
in his tangerine hat,
in his vermilion dancing shoes.
One kiss, one kiss,
lips of flame on frost,
one kiss, pure bliss,
and never count the cost.
She woke. She went to the bathroom.
She took a freezing shower-
her body as pale as a stalagmite,
winter’s frailest flower.
The Duke of Fire stood there,
radiant, ablaze with love,
and the Duchess of Ice cared nothing
for anything in the world.
She spoke his name,
her voice was snow,
kissed him, kissed him again,
and in his warm, passionate arms
turned to water, tears, rain.
Carol Ann Duffy
(Gouda with M.)
.JPG)
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