Pitter, patter.
Rain on glass.
Chitter, chatter.
Glass against skin.
You gave a shudder;
full-on fever.
I never knew cold could burn.
***
YOU ARE READING
Moonlit
PoetryThese are thoughts born under the moon's glow; when sheep has run out, and sleep's a child playing hide and seek with the mind. Some moonlit verses from a pillow-hugging girl.
05 | Cold
Pitter, patter.
Rain on glass.
Chitter, chatter.
Glass against skin.
You gave a shudder;
full-on fever.
I never knew cold could burn.
***
