Apricity..! ❄️✨

This is a cold world—bitter, silent, steeped in dread,
Where solitude is colder than the words unsaid.
And so, at times, you linger where the frost takes hold,
Though ice may pierce your bones, you choose to bear the cold.

 

Two kinds of souls you'll find upon this earth we tread—
Not man and woman, good and bad, or heart and head.
Not clever minds nor ones that flail and fall apart—
But Hot and Warm, the only types that fill the heart.

The Hot ones, they offer swift escape from chill, 

A blazing fire that bends the world to passion's will.
 

They’re radiant, magnetic, thrilling to behold,
Alluring, wild, enchanting, beautiful and bold.
They shine like beacons, brilliant in the stormy night,

Like lamp-lit glass that draws in moths beneath the light.

 

The fiery souls erupt with scorching fire,
A tempest born of surging passion’s ire.
They storm your shores with blasts of fierce desire,
And leave your tender hopes in crimson pyre.

 

Their flames will scorch your skin—
Too fierce, too wild, too proud to let you in.
They scorch with craving, with desire, they burn too bright,
Not out of malice—heat is just their natural might.

 

But then—the Warm. Oh, how the warm ones gently stay,
Not flashing stars, but hearths that glow in soft array.
They will not bring you sudden, fierce delight,
But stay with you through every colder night.

 

Like warm showers at dusk when you are cold and worn,
You almost pass them by, too tired, too forlorn.
But once you yield and let their comfort slowly pour,
You find a peace so deep—you don’t leave anymore.

 

They give you just enough—not more to scorch or drain,
Not less to leave you yearning in the frost again.
Enough to know they’ll always be right there,
A ray of sun in crisp November air.

 

No raging surge, but tides of gentlest light,
They melt your frost and leave your soul bright.

That is the warmth—the gift that soothes the aching chest,
Not blinding flames, but quiet love that brings you rest.

 

And You—You are that warmth, the one this heart has known,
The rarest kind of light my soul has ever shown.
Though many call you Hot—and truly, so you are—
To me, you're Warm—more steady than the boldest star.

 

And you—my kindred soul of temper mild,
The one for whom these humble lines are compiled.
A ray of gold at dawn in winter’s hand—
A warmth I never begged to understand.

O let your ember’s glow endure for sure,
My shelter ’midst the arctic storm obscure.

 

- Sarwesh

 

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