Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

icy hands

sometimes in a cold apartment
i look down at my icy hands
as they stand above
cutting boards, poised,
i then make the choice to cut
vegetables and throw them
into frying pans, i’m
still looking down at my icy hands
haunted by the chill in the air,
how i am the only one there,
the only person with the
only human shadow in the room,
i want another to be there,
someone who will take
the cold out of the air

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: simmer

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