O sun, stretch out your arms and draw me near,
A thread of gold to weave into my skin.
The morning breaks, but still, cold is here,
A silent weight that settles deep within.
Your warmth drips slow, honey on my chest,
But never stays—it flickers, slips away.
I reach for light, for heat, some caress,
Yet shadows stretch and hold me fast in gray.
Press against me, burn this chill to dust
Let fire bloom where winter carved its name.
I ache for touch—something I can trust,
Hands of light to hold me just the same.
O sun, unwind your gold, your endless thread,
And stitch me back to life where warmth has fled.
