Warm

I can't feel the ground under my feet.
I can't feel the pulse thrumming in the street,
Nor the icy trickles down my neck of melting sleet.
Your hand is on my back: I can feel the heat
Spreading, from where your skin and mine meet.

I can't see all those running past my eyes
To find shelter from the falling skies;
Nor hear after the lightning strikes, cries
Of warning, as the ruthless hail flies –
I see only the flames in your pupils rise.

And as the heavy black clouds overhead form
And a crack breaks the dark into a storm,
The smoothed cobbles in these lanes deform –
But I can't see the world around us transform
Like your eyes do, when we stand here: warm.