Running my fingers
Along the frozen walls,
A feeling that lingers;
To a house, its doors.
I stare out at the melting
Burning Sun
A fire too intense;
At its distance,
On my skin, a warmth almost a hum.
The Sun is too close, too close
Foreign is the feeling of the hum,
Dancing on my skin,
Never delving deeper some.
My mind can only wonder,
Sunlust echoing in my gaze as I
Cross my legs and enjoy
The cold while basking in the Sun.
Neither overly warm
Nor am I frozen to the touch;
I have faded into the cold
And currently, I have no plan
Nor rush.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
Running my fingers
Along the frozen walls,
A feeling that lingers;
To a house, its doors.
I stare out at the melting
Burning Sun
A fire too intense;
At its distance,
On my skin, a warmth almost a hum.
The Sun is too close, too close
Foreign is the feeling of the hum,
Dancing on my skin,
Never delving deeper some.
My mind can only wonder,
Sunlust echoing in my gaze as I
Cross my legs and enjoy
The cold while basking in the Sun.
Neither overly warm
Nor am I frozen to the touch;
I have faded into the cold
And currently, I have no plan
Nor rush.
