Winter

I am a man high on stuff usually,
Temperature fluctuations, I am oblivious of.
My body is always hot, insulated otherwise,
I am a man hot by nature, though I often cough.

Whether in presence of other warm bodies,
Or in solitude, without any human touch;
I live on like a roach, unperturbed,
Nothing really matters to me much.

But tonight, and I know why,
As chapters of my life, before me, unfold.
Even though a bottle of wine has already been downed,
For the first time in my life, I feel cold.