Chills
It’s pretty cold.
It’s freezing.
Raining drops freeze before they slam the ground,
but when they meet, there are showers of glitter.
Breaths are pale-white when they touch the chilled air,
but they are but light in this dark world of rest.
Fingers freeze when they leave their gloves and sanctuaries,
but they tingle with renewed warmth when they meet yours.
Lips turn brittle when choked by that deathly air,
but are brought to life again when they touch yours.
It’s pretty cold.
It’s freezing.
Your touch gives me chills,
and I am the warmest man in the world.
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