Cold Hands

My hands are often cold,

like ice, like the Arctic.

I dont know why.

I must tuck them into my lap,

just to warm them.

But when I'm with you,

they get hotter,

like the heat of a fireplace,

like the summer sun.

You melt the ice,

you bring radiance,

like a beautiful June day.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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