But I'd rather be where you are, in New York City.  
Able to feel the crisp air turning my cheeks pink
and chilling my little knuckles,
to feel you wrap around me as I shudder with every tiny snowflake.  
I'd rather be walking along the streets,
with every stoplight in our favor and every cafe open,
welcoming us in for coffee and cake.  
I'd prefer you in a long black pea coat and you prefer me in green.  
I'd rather it be near Christmas time in the empty part of the city,
where no one can hear you whisper to me.  
I'd rather the bakery scents draw us nearer and nearer,
through the park,
down the alleys,
to the heart of Manhattan
and capture us with pungent tarts and little pastries,
waiting,
wishing.  
I'd rather you kiss away the crumbs from my cheek
and feel your scruffy jaw against my neck.