It is the season of
wiggly toes in wool socks,
witty novels and obscure films,
raindrops,
silver against the night sky,
And despite the crisp air,
an overwhelming feeling
of warmth.
It is the season of
warm feelings
that have no objective,
but only,
to feel warm
when my toes
meet yours
in a lucky accident.
Small secret moments,
no more real
than in my heart
and in my head.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
It is the season of
wiggly toes in wool socks,
witty novels and obscure films,
raindrops,
silver against the night sky,
And despite the crisp air,
an overwhelming feeling
of warmth.
It is the season of
warm feelings
that have no objective,
but only,
to feel warm
when my toes
meet yours
in a lucky accident.
Small secret moments,
no more real
than in my heart
and in my head.
