Poem: Ephemeral

 I put my hand
 under a running tap;
 with steam filling the room,
 I can feel the ice
 breaking in my palms
 and the warmth
 spreading through me
 like an army of ants
 walking up my veins
 from the tips of my fingers
 through my flesh.
  
 I want to keep my hand there.
 I want that feeling of a minute
 to stay forever
 But it doesn’t.
  
 I can’t fight my hand turning red. 

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