Cold Hands Poem by Selena Miranda

If my hands weren't cold,
there would be no reason for you to hold them.
The heat of your hands...
emanating onto my hands,
only as you hold on to them.
As soon as you let go,
you touch my hands.
Feeeling them
and telling me if they are cold or not.
You laugh...
when my hands are still cold
and you go back to holding them.

The warmth I feel when you do so,
has all to do with the feeling I get inside;
added to the touch of your warm hands on my cold hands.
All is well and good,
except for the fact that after class is over,
my hands will be cold and you won't be there to hold them.
We sit together at lunch,
surrounded by friends.
You are so different around me then,
that I think I imagined it all.
Yet when we are together,
awa from friends,
I know I imagined nothing...it was all real.

Every time you do this,
I get a feeling unbeknownst to me.
You make me wonder at the real motive,
especially when you did none of this when you had a girlfriend.
Am I a distraction?
Or someone you care for deeply?
I'd ask,
but I fear the magic will be broken.