Etched in Ice

The fire from a furnace cools me more than your fingertip.
Etched in ice, I’d prefer your radiance to the sun’s rays.
Who told you the route to inside of me?
How did you meander through the maze I sometimes become lost in myself?
Unlocking doors rusting for months
You come wonderfully slashing with machetes the vines crowding my heart’s entrance.
Enchanting me with your fragrance, charming me more than Thanksgiving dinner with broccoli casserole and whipped mashed potatoes only my mom and sister can make.
Willing to wait for hours for your email or any sweet and beautiful reminder of you.