You are slipping through the cracks of my
Fingers
The fingers that once held Yours
Together interwoven.
Clutched in my hands,
These Mittens
Sewn between the spaces of
Each other's palms.
We were so close,
So Warm.
It's so cold without you
The fingers are always the first
To go.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
You are slipping through the cracks of my
Fingers
The fingers that once held Yours
Together interwoven.
Clutched in my hands,
These Mittens
Sewn between the spaces of
Each other's palms.
We were so close,
So Warm.
It's so cold without you
The fingers are always the first
To go.
