We dance, two silhouettes under a laundromat
that inch and creep closer like mice, black blips
on a blizzard earth thick with moonlight that lean
and dip, dodging icicles to touch cold fingertips.

Her knuckles in a thin wool sweater, she slips
into the hose of my big overcoat as I brush
snow dust from the nest of her chestnut hair;
wet tennis shoes kiss my slick leather boots.

I stand too close to the sun. The warmth blows
the snow asunder, and sets fire to my lungs; as
my fingers begin to stray; pools of cocoa, lined
in eyeliner laid too thick, draw my face to hers.

Automobiles and meaty mid-afternoon meals,
red bricks and evergreens, trains and frostbite,
skyscrapers and knee scrapes, all leave me and
dissolve in amber bubbles as I lick her liquor lips.