Puffs of breath illuminate,
in the cold moonbeams,
icicles grow on eyelashes,
trapping the water vapor.

My eyes are warmed,
by the view in front of me,
swaying hips in ski pants,
waiting, unknowing my want.

Fur  escapes the hood,
marking the halo
in the early evening,
a snow angel walks.

Snow forms in my hands,
chilling them to blue,
I approach from behind,
my hand creeping.

Suddenly a scream rings out,
my hand found a seam,
and ice cold palm applied,
under her jacket and shirt.