intimate strangers

the snow's fragments carry the bones of seasons past--entrails that are ghostly in the moonlight. white obliterates. i know i will find you in the snow that falls after moonrise. in the unceasing snow, in the stillness of the fall, you will always remain. the bones of this story, our remains, buried beneath hushed traces and pale impressions. the memory holds, is still, is quiet. the city is silent. you are here.

there's a strange intimacy to cold hands. your warmth rushes into mine. a touch that shivers and quells beneath your layers. i feel you. do you feel me? your hands never break through mine.

the wind whirls, unsettling. our footprints shudder and fade. another moment buried to rest, lowered beneath a drift of white. for i memorialize the undead, the unlost, the unfrozen. so that once in a while, in the dead of winter, a blissful melancholy could darken my pale face. a heavy nostalgia could invade me in the shape of snow. in the shape of you.