The Body Runs Too Cold

The body runs too cold,
Tethered into three.
My body feels too old,
Like touches unto thee.
A misplaced chest of treasure,
A platinum affair.
A bout in best of pleasure,
All winter in your hair.

So why agree to assume,
For strict assumption's sake,
When we could simply loom
Under the instincts that we make?
Like animals, our fingers hunt
For prey in either skin,
So once we subject to the start,
The nature can begin.

But only trust in hours,
Feel sparks under the flames,
Names lie forgotten, sour,
And the sanity reclaims.
Thine eyes turn now to frames,
In emptiness we've sold.
Just as the pile that was flames,
The body runs too cold.