Winter expired long before I got the chance to steam up my
windshield with her, my back seat too cramped (being a compact car) to accommodate
all I might want to do, and hers, larger, but unavailable, this wish to grope n
the dark the way I always did as a kid, a search for all her softer spots, the
gaps in her anatomy I ache to fill, especially in the dead of winter, when
seated in my small car waiting for it to warm up so I can drive, thinking of
what it might be like, what scents we might stir up together, rubbing our
sticks together, no boy scout ritual, but a ritual of passion and flame, I still
ache to perform, to heat it all up, to steam up the windshield, to keep going
until we can draw hearts on the glass, and in each other.
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