it is cold here
as we stay huddled;
feet against knee
palm against neck
and our breath forming
short lived figures
in the icy air
and the frozen wind howling
through the hinges of the door
seeking it's next victim
it is cold here
but for us
the blood rushing through
our veins is enough to
feed our hopes for
a less forlorn fireplace
it is cold here
but we aren't
not with the embers
that is our skins
and the hope gushing forth
from this perfection of intimacy
-intimacy of perfection
