Lillies and Ghosts

Frost

They call me pretty,

In the way my words set themselves, 

Patiently between their ears.

Spreading slowly,

at night when they're asleep.

But I cannot feel a thing.

I cannot fess up to the words,

I had used so accusingly.

They call me a genius,

the way they relate.

But, I do not know they can.

I am a mess of contradictions,

A lonely socialite,

I am the frost.

The frost that grows,

on your car window.

Oh, how beautiful.

Looking fragile like a snowflake.

Still, dangerous.

And cold.