Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #162

My Hands Are Cold
by Belinda Roddie

My hands are cold despite the summer heat,
and I cannot find someone to warm them,
to kiss them when they tremble, to rub them
dry when a humid rain has soaked them through.
My fingers usually are numb, so I
can't feel much when I hold things or brush the
surfaces of things. When I touched your face
for the first time, I thought at last I knew
what warmth was like. I thought that color would
flood into my palms, reddening my skin
and making me as sanguine as a child,
hot and giggly and sweltering in June.
Alas, you left me even colder still.
Not even scorchers take away the chill.

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