and gentle snowfall
sinks into our hearts; ice-cold limbs
and freezing, blue hands, yet
the curve of your mouth
is always living red.

you bring my wrist to it,
as tender as hearth fire —
and the mirth in your eyes flowers,
turning the iris summer-green,
like leaves in sunlight.

and in that moment i love you:
infinite, infinite, infinite,
the heart of me stretching endless
like the gossamer sky, my soul
pale moon-become.