I dreamt of Edward in the hush of snow,
his breath a ghost against my sleeping skin.
Silver scars like moonlit maps across his hands
led me through corridors of endless white.
We spoke without sound; frost sealed every word.
His eyes—two winters—held the clockwork of my heart,
ticking louder as the sun forgot to rise.
When I woke, the imprint of his cold lips stayed,
a pale tattoo reminding me I’m still warm,
and somewhere in the dark he keeps dreaming me back.