Cold worlds - poems

Cold World

The streetlamp flickers. No one sees.

The wind moves through the trees,

but does not stop to rest.

At the café, a woman stirs her coffee,

watching the steam rise,

watching it disappear.

Everything vanishes eventually.

You walk home alone,

past darkened windows,

past the lives of strangers

stacked neatly in rooms

you will never enter.

In your pocket, your hand

finds nothing to hold.

At the door, you hesitate—

not because you expect someone

to be waiting,

but because you know

no one will be.

---

The Return

At first, only a slip of brightness

caught in the trees at evening,

a loosening of the dark.

Then, the river begins to move again,

ice breaking apart like old regret.

The fields soften underfoot.

One morning, you wake to birdsong,

thin as a thread but pulling, pulling—

something in you answers.

The world tilts forward.

Light spills through the windows,

lays its warm hands on your face.

You had forgotten how easy it is

to believe in joy.

---

Salt

Soft and swollen,

your body opened beneath me,

a pulse I could feel on my tongue.

I circled slow, deliberate,

each flick drawing a gasp,

your hips rising to meet my mouth.

Salt and sweetness,

heat and tremor—

you shuddered,

my name spilling from your lips

like a prayer.

---

Wants

Your back hit the desk,

papers scattering like leaves in a storm,

the sharp edge pressing into your thighs,

but you didn’t care—

your eyes burned with something

that pulled me under.

I gripped your hips,

pulled you to the edge,

your skirt already hiked,

legs parting in welcome.

The room was silent but for our breaths,

yours quick and shallow,

mine heavy, ragged,

as my fingers found you,

wet and waiting.

Your hands clawed at my shirt,

impatient,

as I slid inside,

slow, deliberate,

watching the way your body arched,

the way your lips parted,

a moan spilling free

that made me lose whatever control I had left.

The desk creaked beneath us,

its solid frame grounding the rhythm

that grew harder, faster,

your heels digging into my back,

your cries growing louder,

unrestrained.

My hand found your throat,

your pulse pounding beneath my palm,

your body tightening around me,

the sound of flesh against flesh

filling the room like a chorus.

When you came,

you shattered—

hips bucking,

fingers clawing at the wood,

your voice breaking on my name.

And I followed,

the world narrowing to this—

your heat, your body,

the way you collapsed against the desk,

spent and breathless.