Everything hurts more
In winter.

My knuckles,
As they rap on the door
Waiting to be accepted
In.

My fingers,
As they pluck at strings
Made of hope and light
And guts.

I find people
More beautiful
In winter.

The rosy cheeks
Against pale complexions,
The shining eyes
And windswept hair.

The smile of relief on their faces,
As they enter the warmth
Of our mutual home.

And maybe,
The two are connected;
The raw knuckles and
Blistering fingers
Are compensated
By the radiating smiles.

And maybe,
The two are connected;
Stuck at home,
I crave company.

Beautiful,
Hurting,
Human company.