Winter
Each time I pull the quilt over me
it’s like slipping within a question mark
that hangs over my bed
prodding the false warmth
with which I sleep this cold winter.
But I know nothing of winter.
I see it only in news clippings of cold waves
or in the shivering of a mendicant
pressed against my car’s window
or in the vaporous breath of an illicit lover
exhaled across my married face.
© Dan Husain
December 23, 2005
it’s like slipping within a question mark
that hangs over my bed
prodding the false warmth
with which I sleep this cold winter.
But I know nothing of winter.
I see it only in news clippings of cold waves
or in the shivering of a mendicant
pressed against my car’s window
or in the vaporous breath of an illicit lover
exhaled across my married face.
© Dan Husain
December 23, 2005
Labels: poetry
Selected by Innocent Bullet |
02:41 |
2 Comments:
Nice work, Dan. The last two lines make the difference.
John Cheeran, the answer to your question is 'No'. You could try Amway.
When the wind chills my bone,
It rattles the wind!
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