Glass

Between us stands a wall of glass,

Clear, lightly bending light. 

On my side, the chilled air vast

Chokes, pulls from me breaths white. 

You press your hand against the glass

And urge me to do the same. 

The soft comfort, you say, will contrast

From the cold and from the pain. 

I reach out to touch the glass

Which scorches beneath my fingers. 

Feeling the smoothness at last,

But blisters are bound to linger. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” you ask

As I press my hand against hot glass.