Sixty-Eight Degrees

The blanket slid onto the floor,

a cold edge nipped my skin.

I shivered, then went for the door,

where the small blue light crept in.

My breath plumed out in misty cloud,

the hallway felt like stone.

The numbers glowed, distinct and proud,

a stubborn, low '68' alone.

I know I left it higher, warm,

a cozy '72' I'd made.

A tiny, quiet, nightly storm,

a silent, petty, cold charade.

I tapped the up-arrow, just to fight,

watching it climb, one slow degree.

The cold, a small but bitter bite,

a silent war between you and me.