Warmth.
This, most of all, I can remember.
We were in the city, mid-December.
Her lashes were long, adorned by flakes of snow.
Her hands were soft, delicate; I warmed when she held me close.
We seemed to sparkle beneath the skyscraper light.
Her smile, my laughter - the glistening whites of our brown eyes.
I had never felt so safe with a thought of someone.
With a presence of a memory.
With a haunting of any ghost.
She was a wonder, a burning fire, a kindness in the biting cold-
A warmth my heart still feels, most mid-December nights, standing beneath the fall of city snow.
