Frozen Fruit Falling

like frigid landscapes devouring fruit
a rigid hand scrapes your flowering youth
yet leaves no cuts, only ‘innocent’ bonding
relieves all but lonely, imminent wanting

wait, wanting for what exactly?
is this not enough?
fate haunting the rut that’s trapped me
in its hot, steel cuffs?

and then frozen fingers drag by with chilled words
that when chosen linger on my wrists, still burned
for now ever so fine for killing a minute
or however much time you’re willing to give it

would i find warmth in those snow covered mountains?
should i climb north, or fold, forever counting
on this breeze to return, and die holding my breath
or risk freezing to learn lessons told free by death?