Winter

I walk to her.
A t-shirt and jeans.
She embraces me.
She runs her cold hands down my arms.
She likes my touch.
She yearns for warmth and companionship.

When I dress for her advances, She tries
harder to find me through thelayers.
She's become bitter.
Instead, she runs her hands over my face.
She can tell I haven't shaved.

We are soul mates set apart.
Both cold.
Alone.
Empty.
Oh, how I love winter.
And how she loves me.