This is the season of
hidden faces and shivering
eyes scanning lit shops and
red gold green shimmers
in frosted windows. This is when freezing
fingers hurry to pockets of heat:
lover?s arms, steaming tea, chocolate
bars and marshmellows
melting,
corners of brick
buildings where the city
steams its excess, where just like
everywhere, warmth is not for
clothes, tv?s, carpets, phones, or boxes
of things but for living bodies still continuing.
