Stories Ourselves

Don’t 

Touch me

I’m too cold to feel it

Tell me stories

Instead

To ease the passing of time

Tell me about 

The frigid winters

How only the 

Luckiest

The most blessed

Survive the snows

Return buried in furs

Laden with riches

Tell me about

Traversing deserts

Scorched sun

Long treks to reach

Strange destinations

And win the hand of a princess

Perhaps

Tell me about 

The gods

Their dreams

Their downfalls

Their deceptions and their punishments

How each time the world 

Is destroyed

The sun is swallowed

Darkness descends

And how each time

It is reborn

Phoenix-like

From the ashes

And begins again

Tell me about

The afterlife

Don’t look anyone in the eye

Weigh your heart

Against a feather

Sometimes it is ice

Sometimes it is flame

And sometimes it

Is nothing

An absence

Tell me about

Anything

Just distract me

Until we are 

Both too cold to think

And we become

Stories ourselves

To be told on cold nights

When hands and hearts

Are numb