intimacy of perfection

it is cold here

as we stay huddled;

feet against knee

palm against neck

and our breath forming

short lived figures

in the icy air

and the frozen wind howling

through the hinges of the door

seeking it's next victim

it is cold here

but for us

the blood rushing through

our veins is enough to

feed our hopes for

a less forlorn fireplace

it is cold here

but we aren't

not with the embers

that is our skins

and the hope gushing forth

from this perfection of intimacy

-intimacy of perfection