Lukewarm

People may need. Two different things:

A warm blanket on a winter night.

A cold water on a summer day.

That was easy.

But the book says otherwise

that people need three,

actually.  A companion.

And this, I can’t hardly achieve

without a sacrifice.

 

Lukewarm

 

in a room I shared with another.

Living thing.  My search for warmth

is in its dying. My search for coldness

is also in its dying.

 

So I wake up

each early morning turning off

this machine-sucking

life of the other.  In the comfort

of my own breathing.

 

Hoping that the easiness

will boil down

into two different things:

People may need.

While warming winter.

And cooling summer.

Without you.