Bullet-proofed, dead-bolted, alarmed and well armed, all the lights on and the cold breaks in anyway.
Makes thieves of us. We steal through the night. Elbows ashen and ankles arid. Thin skinned.
Hair static, we cling. Two bodies warmer than one. We hum snatches of that tune from Lakmé.
Humid vines twist-entwining, our legs a pas de deux, an undercover operation.
Our breath flowers frozen petals. The cold air. The cold. Steals our breath, steels our nerve.
Sets our fingers prying. We're finding warm openings. We're breaking and entering into sleep.


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