Cutting against the cold

My skin has grown so smooth

worn with the weight of light

that your finger's touch

goes straight to bone

and there rests

carving your fingerprints

into my slender palms

and how the warmth curls

from your tender hand

into the crevices it has carved

and this shaking is ceased

for a moment yet

We are still.

The cold cannot encroach.

Winter is coming with its claws

but my slender hands are safe

within yours.