Cold Hands

There is a feeling

as if the purest oxygen

filled your lungs

when she is near.

I was lost in a trance

but heard all the mimes and monks

sing Che Gelida Manina

as loud as they could

just to get her attention.

Cold hands indeed, Puccini,

for the warmth is a raging furnace

in her heart.

I’ll not be Rodolfo; please don’t be Mimi.

I’ll take your hand

if you want me to,

only if you want me to.

But I’ll still sing love in my heart.

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