Take me home
away from the cold
to the fire,
to the hearth of it all.
Take my ribcage
into the palms
of your hands,
let them leave trails like frost.
Run your finger
down my spine
let it sit,
let it stay.
Pull me from
the icy grasps of jealousy,
the sting of being left outside in the snow.
Courtney Askey. Aspiring film director & musician in Leicester. I eat a lot of cake, drink a lot of coffee, have a lot of cats, make a lot of things and I'm desperately in love with Keats.
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