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A house filled with wavelets of tiny amounts of cold, Gently playing around figures hunched around themselves, Teasing the skin with goosebumps, Lifting shivering hairs and chattering their teeth. Everything is slightly blue, All is contracting, Attempting to keep within itself, The last remnants, A faint, Fond, Memory Of heat. Spasms and shivers pulse through one life, A moment in time, Convulsion, Need. To encourage the memory she craves, She rises; Runs up stairs, An attempt to outrun the frigid atmosphere. And then, Through the blue, A small, Brilliant, Shining Slice of sun Spread out, On the shadowed wall. A little piece of light, Hiding, In a house of cold. |
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CONVERSATION
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