Snowdrift

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The chill arrives even with you.

I thought here I’d be safe, but still

the snows come thick as clay

where shivery, I wake—

the sweep of my spine

stiffening, pale along the weight

of these girlish knees;

ice-capped bones

you scale with naked hands.

We curl in the sheets, embryonic.

 

Entirely frozen,

my nose a nub of ice, dead

but for breath that betrays me.

Raising my hands to your mouth,

you kiss each knuckle

one by one

bringing each finger to life

as the red pulse loosens

from where it was held

like a cough or a loving word.

Still the snow whitens the world.

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