Your Hands

What were we talking of that night?
Hypothermia – your cold hands.
My body burns in your light.

Your eyes upon me want to bite
And I freeze into silence
What were we talking of that night?

If I could, I would take flight
But I cannot face the cold:
My body burns in your light

If only I could stand and fight
But you enfeeble me with words
What were we talking of that night?

We are locked in this eternal rite
Though only agony is ours,
My body burns in your light.