Jan 22
1 min read
TWELVE BELOW
Cold, frosted windows,
glazed with artistic streaks of ice.
Pull blankets up around my neck,
Torres the Cat on my breast,
saying, in cat, ”Get up. Feed Me.”
He heard the alarm.
Sitting up and throwing my legs over the edge,
we both stretch our limbs, unwinding,
removing the knots from a winter night’s sleep.
