I love winter.
It's okay to be sickly white,
I now have an excuse.
I like the coffees, the hugs,
the chilly wind that lets
you know you're
alive.
I love evening runs when
the sun goes down
three hours earlier,
and I have
to race it home.
I love searching
for a heater in every classroom,
then staying for so long I
burn my feet.
I love hot roasts at dinnertime;
thick gravy soaking my insides.
I love movie nights and
fortress building;
the inventive activities
my friends must come up with
to do together because
the park, pool and plaza
are all off-limits.
I love the mornings when
the warmth from my bed is
so compelling
leaving would be
betrayal to a lover.
I love watching the legs
of a primate unfold
beneath me as my
razor collects dust
and I have no reason
to clean it.
I love putting on my
entire wardrobe and
counting the layers between
my body and the
ghostly hands of ice
that try to reach
my bare skin.
I love putting on a beanie and
shielding the world
from my
awfully bad hair day.
I love all my excuses for not
doing anything.