Cold As...

The damp, cold air
reached through my skin,
grabbed my bones, and
shook me like a tambourine;
teeth chattering,
hair follicles stinging,
sniffing back a waterfall
trying to form a scenic view
flowing out the end of my nose.
Saying it was as cold as
the shriveled breast
of an old lady dressed in black,
stirring a caldron full of dead rats,
seemed an understated simile to me.