Your Hands Were Warmer Than Summer

A cycle of poems «You Taught My Hands How to Pray on Your Body»

The sun still climbs, the sky stays blue,
But something vital died with you.
The world burns bright, yet I feel cold -
Like seasons lied when love grew old.

I reach for warmth that isn’t there,
An empty space in evening air.
My fingers curl around the past -
A fire gone, but smoke will last.

Your hands were warmer than summer,
Glowing like dawn in December.
One touch could thaw my frozen soul -
Now winter lives inside me whole.

We danced barefoot on sunbaked streets,
Laughed at the heat with salt on our cheeks.
You held me close beneath porch-light glow,
Whispered, "This is all I’ll ever need to know."
But seasons shift, and promises fade -
Now August feels like a masquerade.

I reach for warmth that isn’t there,
An empty space in evening air.
My fingers curl around the past -
A fire gone, but smoke will last.

Your hands were warmer than summer,
Glowing like dawn in December.
One touch could thaw my frozen soul -
Now winter lives inside me whole.

I wear your old jacket when nights turn cruel,
Smell faintly of smoke and your favorite fool.
(You called me that with a crooked grin -
Now silence swallows where your voice has been.)
I press my palms to the windowpane -
Cold glass can't mimic your gentle flame.

They say time heals, but it only rewinds -
Back to your touch, back to those kind lines.
I’d trade every July, every golden noon…
Just to feel your fingers brush mine again soon.

So let the sun rise, let the skies ignite -
I’ll miss your heat ‘til my final night.
No season returns what was torn apart…
Your hands were warmer than summer -
And you left me the dark.