Poem: Ephemeral

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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