Warmth

In between ice and fire, warmth.
Not too hot, not too cold, just right,
Like you.

Your warmth lingers on the tip of my lips,
My teeth barely skimming the radiating not-yet-hot
Of the air around you,
My fingers almost touching the not-yet-cold
Of the skin lying on you.

It is not enough.
I want it to envelope me,
Hold me and cuddle me up
In it’s fuzzy layers of just right feelings
And fitting snugness,
Emotions like the inside of a furry mitten.

If only it could complete me, your warmth,
Instead of teasing me,
Suspended just out of my reach,
Below the bottom of my toes,
Above the top of my head.

If only it could be the bed I sleep on,
The pillow that holds my head,
The blanket folding over me,
Beside me, comforting me, at night.

Your warmth is not close enough,
And when it is, it leaves,
And when it leaves,
The cold shocks me,
Jarring the parts of my body where
It once touched me,

Your warmth, it freezes me.

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