Three.
My mouth hovers across your breasts
in the short gray winter afternoon.
In this bed, we are delicate and tough.
So hot with joy we amaze ourselves.
Tough and delicate.
We play rings around each other.
Our daytime candle burns with its peculiar light.
And if the snow begins to fall outside, filling the branches.
And if the night falls without announcement.
These are the pleasures of winter.
Sudden, wild, and delicate.
Your fingers exact.
My tongue exact at the same moment.
Stopping to laugh at a joke.
My love, hot on your scent, on the cusp of winter.