Sunlight filters through the closed windows of my overheated car as winter wages
its war, the glow rippling from the rooftops, the grip of freeze on my fingers
as I try to hold on to the memory of warmth, now so seemingly distant, too many
years to remember when I last touched the sacred places, and last felt the
cling of her lips against mine, this season the most dismal, the least sense of
hope, enduring what needs to be endured, clinging to what warmed us back when
we thought we would never feel warmth again, she being a different person now
than she was back then, she seeming to accept something she sees as inhibitable,
basking and sunlight while I still envision what she looked like, felt like,
tasted like before Winters embrace
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