Peer out those frosty windows,
wrapped in wool and the weather-resistant
arms of another, kisses pressed
to the palms of my cold and aching flesh
and the sides of my white-washed face.
Pine fire snaps and flash of flame
play shadow games on the rustic walls of
the cabin we claimed as two fugitives
in a headlong rush from the cannibal cities.
Our kingfisher flight through a biting,
frigid night, one step away
from the cynical, sinister sway
of men and women, living wraiths,
hunkered down in rotting rooms
of come what may.
One whisper remains, as he pulls
his gentle lips back from my cold face—