Zero Kelvin, three minutes submerged,
The room, a frosted vacuum,
The mind, alerted.

A signal sent from cortex to limb,
Yet the skeleton is but a legacy system,
Stiff, rusted, refusing compliance.

This is the latency of breath,
This is the latency of will,
The gap between "I will" and "I am."

Out into the world,
The air is a blade,
Ready to cut the soft edges of my sleep.

I DO NOT wait for warmth.

The architect knows,
Heat is merely by-product,
Born from friction.

Draping Apollo's fire,
Lacing Hermes' stride through my veins,
I force Boreas into the furnace of my lungs.

The first step a glitch,
The second a recalibration,
The third, rhythm.

No gap between will and am.