9

Winter Turns to Spring

I.

My icy fingers slip inside your sleeve

and nestle between your warm ones. The satin

lining of your peacoat licks my wrist.

I press my nose against you cheek

chilled like marble from the freezing night

and feel the warmth of my breath reflected upon my lips

as I whisper something nice

to watch you smile.

Our breath hangs in the thin air like fog.

My spine bends my head forward against the chill

and my mouth finds the opening slit in a plastic cup,

then seeks the plump softness of your lips.

The heavy warmth of coffee, thickened

with sugar and cream

will linger on my tongue.

II.

A drop of rain shatters like glass against my nose.

It cools the heat rising in my cheeks

like hives, and my eyelids dart open

to reveal the sky, hued peach and lavender

into my retinas.

The breath of a sigh parts my lips

before the sharp edge of my tooth

can sink into the lower one again.

The warmth of a breeze brushes by my exposed skin

as though to remind me of your absence.

Begging mouths in a prickly nest are the only reminders

that the raven’s wings had ever rested with another’s

in a simpler time when branches were bare

and the coal black feathers sheened blue in the moonlight.