It’s cold
It's cold, you are with me,
or so the air tells me
as it carries your fragrance;
or so your words claim,
those few that you gift me
in between all this distance.
You are here while you are silent,
while I love you,
while I observe from afar, with a breath of hope;
but it is cold: my words freeze,
and although you are not that far away
I feel cold deep within my soul.
It's cold,
but I continue
to love you
throughout the days,
and the hells of my nights
and the loneliness of the wee hours;
with what is left of my heart,
with what remains of my reasoning,
with what I have left over of foolishness...
[And I will continue like this,
because I can't find
nor can I neither accept nor conceive
some other shelter
other than your arms.]
