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Cold hands wink sarcastically
to a warm heart as they chuckle
awkwardly at a – once too many
times repeated – cliché of a joke

Grazed knees, and, palms – still sore –
encounter a slip, trip, and, fall
from getting ahead of themselves

A furrowed brow delves and burrows
millimeter by millimeter into the skin
that left it so helplessly on show

Cold feet cuddle a cold shoulder
all three stand huddled by the smouldering
embers of what once; was

A wry smile remembers where it all went
awry
At the soup kitchen And, hardens
at the thought of soft, toasty kisses
like freshly baked bread
No longer capable of being culinarily
conjured
No longer able to taste
No longer on the menu

That, warm heart, is, now, poor
penniless, broke Back out into the
unrelenting cold
Broken
As it sits cross-legged getting-ever-colder
and, homeless – sleeping rough

This, now, bitter heart, is
mostly; not sleeping at all
Begging for change
But, really it is begging for things to go
back to the way they were
Begging to be whole; again

 

Begging for you.

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