His hand is steadily reaching out.
The bench is warm and seated,
one place winters power was depleted.
The hand has reached her mouth.

His finger slips on her upper lip.
Scarves become alive. Breath turns
vague. As if someone is trying to equip
them with knowledge. Their heart burns.

His mouth has arrived, his tongue
has followed. Cheek by cheek,
their love, so punctual and young.
Without thinking, no need to speak.

Her head, pulled away, her feet,
now cold, are facing another way.