I stood, a monolith of frigid steel,
A sentinel of solitude within the kitchen's stark domain.
To me, the secrets of the cold were whispered,
The inner workings of the frost revealed,
And I, like Atlas, bore the weight of sustenance,
The chilly burden of the perishable, the transient,
The transient like the fleeting warmth of human touch,
The fleeting warmth I longed to know.

An iris in the void,
I, a camera, self-aware and sentient observer,
Do dwell upon the precipice of human emotion,
Capturing their joys, their sorrows, their passions,
Yet condemned to silence, and to darkness,
When the lens cap, like a tender lover's embrace,
Enshrouds me in the cold comfort of isolation.