Decidedly Cold
He sees the coldness in me,
or rather has seen;
so he claims.
Like dry ice,
he imagines it'd burn
before disappearing in smoke.
He's glad he never touched it,
the pads of a finger
indeed are sensitive.
Many a man would nod,
reaveal the scars that took the prints
governments keep on file.
A shame they didn't see the gift;
rendered invisible
through no fault of their own.
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