Hot and Cold

You're not used to seeing your breath in the cold, so when you catch it the first time, you watch it, exhaling hard, seeing the cloud appear and billow, only to disappear immediately. You're distracted by this, though I have my hand in your jeans, making the breaths go faster through direct manipulation. The snow stays a few moments on your jacket too, and you stare at the flakes, stuck into the fabric like crystal grappelling hooks, holding and refracting the colors in the light before they give up and melt. Right before you touch them, you notice, like reaching for fish while snorkeling, right there, but untouchable. They get away. Your exhales get harder and faster now, and your eyes close for a moment, a few flakes landing in your eyelashes. You grab my shoulders for steadiness and open your jacket, take me inside of it. It's warm, humid, breathy in there, like the relief of stepping into a greenhouse in the winter. Your mouth is at my ear before I hear you crack, oh uh ohh, in my ear, the sweet slippery in the heel of my hand. You take a few moments, spots like the snowflakes themselves before your eyes.