Author August Stramm Toes deaden. Breath smelts to lead. Hot needles dance in fingers. Backs turn to snails.Ears hum coffee. The fire swaggerswith logs andwith a shrivela crack a satisfactionyour simmer heart sips from high in the skya seething sleep. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments