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The rest of my body knows
As I lay huddled
Under the covers
Trying to create
Trying to absorb
Warmth
But my fingers
(They so often get me in trouble)
Wanted to rub
my cold nose
Wanted to stretch
They felt cramped
Wanted to glide
Across the keyboard,
More curious
than my cold nose
can be
So they crept up
Past the boundary
Of the sheets
Rubbed the cold away
Stretched sinuously
Typed quickly
Warmed, despite the room's
chill
Then, as parts of me urged--
the shoulders now bared
and shivering
the arms
with hair on end
the nose
whose warmth was fleeting--
the fingers paused
compromised
slid away from the keyboard
grabbed the comforter
tugged it gently
re-created the cocoon
2 comments:
it's been too long since I've read an Elle story or poem. Thanks for the lovely images of snuggling on a winter morning.
Thank you! I don't have time to write what I consider "creatively." And then, on the late nights, when I do take a moment, the words won't come. It's so frustrating--this is one of the first things I've written in many, many months.
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