April 4 - January

Sheets are cold

icy feet poking
about
looking for that
warm spot
where I let her
press her soles
toes wiggling
in delight
little sighs
of ecstasy
slip out from
between her lips
as she slides
her arms around
me
pressing
herself into
my back
lighting a fire
that burns
inside my bones
well worth
the trade
of cold feet
warming
upon my legs
hair so black
as to be blue
falls over
my shoulder
a confessional
screen
as she recounts
her excitement
of that day
dancing in the
grocery store
parking lot
licking snow
flakes from
the air as flurries
piled the snow
higher and higher
arms outstretched
head tilted
back she'd spun
herself into a
drunken wobble
her laughter
such that the
bread and milk
brigade stopped
in their hurried
rush into the store
infected with her
inaugural joy
of first winter's
snow
words come slower
and as we flip
in our synchronized
sleepcapade
her last thought
as she slides
beneath the
waves of slumber
is to wonder
about so much
bread and milk
when it was so
obvious that
it was tacos you
counted on to
survive all of
life's little storms
well that and lots
of chips and salsa
her breathing settles
into rhythm
I am caught and
willingly surrender
to swim with her
beneath a sea of
dreams

The sheets are cold
icy feet
feel around
for her
but it's January...
again                                                                                       many times over
long past that day