It's cold, can you

by Shaurya Pathania

grab my hands, put them in your woolen cardigan, hold 

                            them along with yours, let me cry. 

Let’s not talk with words, only touch, feel my patchy rough fingers, my skin 

             dry, moisturize them with your sweat like the dew on 

                                                                                                 a barren window. 

         Stop. At the sidewalk? Shall we sit down here for a while, you don’t have 

to leave this early. No one 

                                              awaits us. We’re the orphans of huge skyscrapers, 

                                  our glasses cracked; our throats pierced. Stay, 

let me feel again the bobbles in the pockets 

                  of the cardigan, see these blinking streetlights, that’s my heart fluttering, 

with every little touch of your fingernails at my skin. These cold chills may affect 

                               my whole body but my 

             hands are warm. I feel alive. This much warmth is enough

for night, this much warmth is enough

for life. 

Shaurya Pathania holds a Masters Degree in English Literature from University of Delhi, India. He has a keen interest in poetry, sleep and food. Few of his works have appeared or are forthcoming in Vine Leaves Press, Rising action Review, Synchronized Chaos, Daily Drunk Mag and elsewhere. He can be talked to @shauryapathani4 on Twitter.