cold

it is cold, we know
in this thin skin
we carry ’round with us
it is cold beneath the sheets
like linen in winter
that has not seen a body
it is cold

i would gather the books
and all the written word
and set them ablaze
to keep us warm
but while ink and paper
set spark to the great fires
they are not sufficient
in and of themselves
so we will lie frozen
but together

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