Tongue in a twist –

scrape, scrape, scrape of

love. The roughness of

tenderness twines to

the warmth of winter

within walls.

For a fluctuant moment

the flick of his small body

stills itself, and his flesh

curls closer. His snuffles

dissolve into breath.

Later, dreams will twitch him,

but he places his hope

in waking, clean and cozy,

together.