Ice Suit

Bequeathed in ice’s throne,
an ancient skin of older bones.
Forced deceitful fangs my
tongue wets, as I wait for frost
and the chilling burns. My
scepter held the crumbs of
dust of all my torn apart names,
full like amber remembered the
infinitesimal ant. Broken stones
circum my dias, a wintry journey
following prints of souls, down
beyond the skin my shrouded kinless kin.

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