Eveery oncer in a whily I, laying down
sucking be my thumb
and being tired
falling into cold sheets with clutched fingeries
gazing into cold be eyes of nightly and for
jack frosty brother, of sheets
between which I wait for them
with beaming smile, but moreover,
with
tears falling in youthful, yet
bursting through the door.
as I see, still, through
wet mirrorred hallways, a
hundred of us we in
many
sweaters and sweated brow on warmer nights, climbing up and down,
and through the halls
letting in of cold in, and
sulking my
thumb sucking, he is, I am,
and
cold fingers,
saliva off thumb
freezing on
clenched eyes tears, clenched fist fingers
against the cold of my sheets,
ten of me in my room, observing reading, sleeping,
and
me,
alone just one,
sleeping in
cold sheets, the
door wide open.