Sensitivity To Warmth

I’m tired of being Imoveably cold

But Warmth doesn’t seem to care for me.

He prefers hearts easier to reach

Over those guarded under lock and key.

Real invigoration is so infrequent

It melts me beyond the use of coherent thought.

It finds me at my most relaxed

And shocks my senses back to full alert.

A warning; If Warmth can reach you,

So can all sorts of volatile expressions.

Good intentions can’t diminish

The fragility of your intimate dimensions.

Born to grave sensitivity

I easily shudder in the light of friendship,

And comfort myself solely

In the snowy luminance of reflection.