Glimmering Sans Glitter

We once plated love like crème brûlée,
crackling warmth beneath a sugared shell,
each spoonful a promise
melting on the tongue of hope.

But desire, like leftovers wrapped in foil,
was tucked away in the icebox of memory,
begging to be preserved,
a banquet paused mid-feast.

Time…

That frostbitten archivist,
sealed our passion in vacuumed silence,
where even breath grew brittle
and kisses crystallized like frozen patterns

on a winter window.

We tried to reheat the past,
microwaving old laughter,
defrosting apologies like soup gone thin,
but the flavor had fled,
leaving only the texture of regret.

Love, once a wildfire,
now resembled a snow globe,
beautiful, yes,
but shaken only satisfies nostalgia.

Even the heart,
a meat locker of sentiment,
cannot escape the gray fuzz of freezer burn,
where tenderness turns tough,
and longing tastes like cardboard.

Still…

We rummage through the cold,
hoping for one untouched morsel,
one ember wrapped in frostbite’s disguise.

So I ask…

Might there be redeemable life
for passion and tenderness
after freezer burn bruising?