Time

I love it

when you come in through the back door

announced

by the hours,

preserved at the end of the day.

A whimper,

about snowflakes and dust angels

slow to settle,

first touch always a burn.

Then you curl up beside my fireplace,

drinking in heat

crackles- quick spit-

something about lemongrass, ice and long evenings

sunsets gentle,

outstretched.

Slip of a tick,

hands move quick-

Wrapped up again

too hot to stay in the sheets,

tear them off

I think I hear you say

Almost think you will stay

but the back door is still open

and I am so full.