Cold – Thirty Poems in Thirty Days # 17

I’m doing a month of poetry, one new poem each day for thirty days. Here’s number seventeen of thirty.

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Not freezing
But so cold
That it’s burning
The flames engulfing
The past that lays wasting
In my wake

I awake
Teeth chattering
Bones clamoring
For that warm embrace
That only the angels can now have

Mists of longing breath
Float in the wispy air
As I close my eyes
And run my fingers through her hair


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