My capillaries believe that the frost is coming for them -- my spine aching for the warmth it has come accustomed to, rather than the boreal brittleness underneath that the cutlass attached to my feet glided around in spheres. It reminded me of the moonβs orbit, the shape of the planets the ellipses of the galaxies -- suddenly swirling, breaking and reforming the stars within them, which I then noticed to be the warmth of your carpals and metacarpals between mine, filling up all the Thenar Space.