Poems about cold

An empathy face
Comes into focus out of the grey rain
With her own set of capitulations to the greater good
With her own price paid for the comforts cold and thin
An empathy face alabaster finely carved
With tears in stark contrast to the brightness in her eye
Comes into slow resolution out of the grey grainy surface of the rain
With its harsh aspects felt like nails slowly driven
Her thin red lips and blue shadow
Her divine voice as she talks to some side person
Her eyes never leaving yours
She is drinking you
With a deserts worth of thirsts

Graceful she flows across the tiled floor
Like she was born to such places
Like she was born to glide where all others had crawled
But when she reaches you puts her hand to your arm
Her fingers trembling her breaths short and swift her face flush
She pauses and lifts her head and plunges her soul into your eyes
With breathtaking abandon like an orgasm
Her black sweater with a golden bird stitched into
Her bracelet silver and bejewelled
Her perfections catalogue in your mind in that momentary glimpse of heavens unattained
That she breaths in deep
Drawing breath and strength
Before she opens her song
Before she cries out in such sweet tongue
At the bitter night

An empathy face
With her own set of capitulations to the greater good
With her own price paid for the comforts cold and thin
And i cry with and for her
As she cries with and for me
An empathy face
In the grey rain

We will measure the oil slick skyline in miles per hour, asking ourselves how often the Eiffel tower is lonely.
Crumbling bits of long-boned light between our fingers,
Together, we are the euthanasia of elegance.
Half past fifteen and I drive like an arrhythmia, the universe has been promised to my palms, it should have been you, it should have been you, a secondhand hurricane halved, but maybe my skin is always overcast.
You are a constellation's carcass, flaying open a second subconscious.
There is a certain rhythm to misremembering, but you always come to me clutching at the colors.
You are an estuary, stumbling, gracelessly slung into stillness, embalmed by the opacity of your own hands, yet you listen and understand and agree that grass is the incessant stole of decay, that someone has indeed replaced our vertebrae with tusks of summer, an illicit version of lunar lethargy,
And ten years from now we'll still be cerebral as stars, drinking cold coffee and crying under the sink, keening amongst the early morning wreckage, the vernacular of Vesuvius.

What
Hail storm
Dwells
Inside
Your soul
When
The heart
Is truly cold

I woke up
And things were colourful,
The blanket was warm with my body heat
And that proved my existence
So I stayed in bed
Just a little while longer
Before standing up
And beginning the drift of day,
Cold feet
But I'm doing this anyway

I stepped in
And the water was inches below scalding,
The tiles were perspiring
And I closed my eyes
Shrinking, folding
Back into my mind
Just a little while longer
Before stepping out
And beginning the ritual of
Sunday
Cold feet,
Wet hair assuming responsibility
For the chill around my neck;
Unsure
But I'm doing this anyway

I woke up
Dead or alive
Determined
Cold feet
But I'm doing this anyway

I'd ask for more if
You'd hear me say
Things of depth and circumstance
In ways i can't convey

Within earshot
I would hear the whispers
From a divine warmth
Underneath sheets
Near-silent songs
Of how you
Think you could love me

Arms length could
Have us close enough
To hear hearts beating
Between the both of us

Rain storms
Bringing closer
Rhythmic patterns
With the drops
Skin serene
& soft

But impartial is the universe
Our minds distractible
Our feet hardly
Ever on the ground

& these words i write
Could never capture
The essence i dream you portray

These miserable hands
That lament loss
Of a thing yet even obtained

They don't know how
To grasp gently enough
The hands of grace
& divine warmth

When i feel lonely
I'll conjure your caress

It was time hardly spent
But well spent nonetheless

Perched at the feeder,
Blue Jay's feathers are ruffled
In the winter storm

It felt like
I was walkin swift,
Out in snowy drift
My thumb stickin out,
Just lookin for a lift and
I'm going on and on
Along this icy road, where
Nobody should be driving and
There's not a single flower thriving,
Just a sorry soul stuck diving
Into vacuous space, with
A deadpan face an
Intricate lace, and a
Now unhurried pace
Shuffle shuffle
Thumb down

A single thread,
Black thin and bare
Floating adrift,
In starlit air
Unattached

A single layer,
Not enough

Cold pink hands
In bottomless pockets,
Filled with keys to lost lockets
With tick tocks and tickets, bits of
Tobacco, and crumpled up paper

So lift yourself to lift the veil,
But lift yourself to no avail, and
It's no matter if you succeed or fail

It's a silly serpent biting it's own tail.
It has no need for anything else.

Keep on walking

BE AWARE OF THE COLD, ESPECIALLY, TO YOUR FEET. YOU CAN FIND THEM FREEZING, UNABLE TO WALK A BEAT.
BE AWARE OF THE COLD, ESPECIALLY, TO YOUR HANDS. THEY CAN FEEL LIKE POP SICKLES, AND ROUGH AS SAND.
BE AWARE OF THE COLD, ESPECIALLY, TOTHE NOSE. YOU MAY FEEL LIKE ROUDOLF, FROM YOUR HEAD, DOWN TO YOUR TOES.
BE AWARE OF THE COLD, ESPECIALLY, WHEN YOU CRY. AS THE TEARS RUN DOWN YOUR FACE, PLEASE REFUSE TO DIE.
BE AWARE OF THE COLD, ESPECIALLY, TO YOUR BONES. YOU NO LONGER HAVE ENERGY, YOU JUST WANT TO GO HOME.
BY, AUTHOR & POET, SANDRA JUANITA NAILING