That Winter

6 Jan

I miss the cold.

I miss the mental count of rhythmic step,    the beat
of frosted footprints

through crackling
ice
along the street.

…The sleet.

 

and Oh-

The anticipated warmth of your bed
after the slow,
silky slap of

snow.

I miss the clear drip
from my nose.

Hands in gloves,
Scarf neck hugs,
Visible breath that grows.

I would make hot
tea
And you would drink cups of black
coffee

And we’d make lunch and love
lay down and shove
your cold feet
between the sheets
and my legs-

They never stopped shivering.

 

 

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