Snow Man

As always, winter's hands grasp me
and pull me under,
beneath her white, calloused ice,
I fumble.
And try to make amends with the snowman,
whose death will come when spring descends,
for I'm fertile; bred for excellence.
My beauty breathes within my genes,
like an embryo within a freshly seeded womb.
perhaps the sun will melt the snow,
making the road more clear--
or perhaps the heat will rise up in flame,
and engulf me entirely.