My dear, my love, incarnate of winter,
Inviting yet cold your countenance be;
Your frigid touch induces a shiver
Born not from discomfort—instead, of glee.

To a bright fireplace, your soul is akin;
Sealed deep inside a secluded abode,
For your love warms the body from within.
But to outsiders, it is never showed.

My dear, your wintry wall of white belies
A heart not frozen, but hot and thumping.
And though your blue eyes are as cold as ice
Your hypnotic gaze is snug and soothing.

If only more could melt your frosty shield.
If only they knew what man they would yield.