it was a winter kind of love,

the kind that spoke with eyes, actions and bodies.
because the chill and cold didn't matter when limbs became tangled.
neither did words. they weren't enough.
why did one have to say, "I love you,"
when it could be spoken through fingers on the spine and lips on the collarbone?
it was the need for presence.
for keeping the hands from getting numb, and making the cheeks warm.
because there's no such thing as too close when it was this cold.

it was a winter kind of love,
the kind that melted like the snow.