Moment

It’s cold out here.
It’s cold out here, and you are warm.

You are warm, your
softness, your solidity, your
burning fingertips
around me.

Your skin, bright like the
winter sky, blanketed gently
with new-fallen snow.
I trace your constellations.

Your eyes, threaded
with scraps of sky,
twilit, electric,
cloudless and kind:

you shimmer
like stardust, shine
like rain-polished,
streetlight-streaked
sidewalk, alive
in the dark, new
every time.

And the kiss: softer
than I expected, and
everything
is deep and dark and full with
the feel and scent and taste of
you, and
everything
is warm and
everything
is you.

by A.J.