With that hair that stood in defiance of snowflakes fat enough
to break windows and that scarf that matched the gradients
in bare cheeks like strokes of a master knitting bitch
with an eye for the intricacies of oil and brush work
with that sighed split of lips smiling and the touch
there again and gone like a wink of tongue to eye tooth and
oh my god
did you see how perfect
the ball of snow was before it slapped you square in those chops.
