numb to the cold by Hobson’s choice, frigid
thorns prick my spine with callous indifference.
unwavering chills to trail my course and
never to meet my own resistance.
in a singular case of awe and chance
may I feel the heat of another’s breath
but upon its farewell the pricks do deepen
and the fleeting warmth only swells perception.
Copyright © 2015 Maddy Stillman