The cold locks us in its embrace almost as soon as the snow
ceases, the dead of winter with more than a few weeks before groundhog tells us
if we get an early spring, those are the darkest days we must somehow endure,
waiting out the winter, bundled up in our beds, rubbing against each other like
boy scouts sticks with the vain hope we can offset the chill
I prefer the hot days
when we work up a sweat that way, feeling every inch, the soft embrace of
bodies in motion, no desperate attempt, just pure pleasure of it.
it is difficult to
feel anything grand with numb fingers or toes, with that one part shrinking
under the deep freeze and no way to thaw out, yet perhaps it is best way to get
through it all, one deep inch at a time
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