Crunching, crunching, crunching
Down the street
White crinkling snow covers my feet
Breathing in and out, my breath whitier than the sky
Blown against my freezing hands
As people pass me by
A hand holds mine, bigger and stronger
With hair dusted across
Filling me with warmth of another kind
Squeezing at it slightly
I am happy
Crunching, crunching, crunching
Down the street we go
Our destination; unknown
Thumb against hand, hand against thunb
My lips against yours should be a song
A song of love
A song of lust
A song of whispered desires and looks
A fleeting smile a gentle glance
As my hand is released
Time to go
Time to stop looking into your eyes
For I do not wish for you to see
My sorrowful goodbye |