Winter's Touch

The cold bites deep, like a whispering ghost,

my collarbone exposed, like a delicate host.

A scarf slips free, revealing the chill,

as winter reminds me, of time’s quiet thrill.

In the empty street, shadows grow long,

each breath, a story, as I stumble along.

Vulnerability glimmers in the fading light,

like an ember ignited, flickering bright.

Soft frost clings on, a hesitant touch,

a reminder that vulnerability can mean so much.

I carry the chill, as I step through the frost,

each moment whispers of warmth never lost.