I was in Lit Trad today and I decided to write a poem to my love. But I'm not a poet, so it's lukewarm to say the most. Evening is quick to fall upon him. Down he snuggles between the blankets on his bed. Warmth he is seeking--and he begins to imagine arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him, reaching into the depths of his heart, of his soul. Downy arms of his love keeping him warm. "Are these waves of warmth real?" he wonders, "Am I truly being held?" Round he turns, and drafts of cool air lick his skin through the blankets. On his other side he sees his love lying close to him, not in spirit but truly there holding him tightly and smiling all the while. "Are you cold, my love?" she asks sweetly, moving closer to him under the blankets. In the deepest darkest night, he, lying close to his love, thinks that there is nothing better. Only her arms he could feel never letting him go. *inspired by my love and the crazy grammer structure of John Milton*