Downtown

It was cold.
The glacial glare of yellow streetlamps
Illuminated each downy, feathered flake
As the blur of fine, glitter-dust snow
Left comet trails behind my eyelids. 
It was the kind of cold that claws its way into your skin,
Gnawing on the hollows of your wrists,
The numb hinges of your jaw.
The neon noise of twenty-four seven gas stations
And down-to-earth diners
Were a backlight to your smile,
The glimmer of ice 
In the gilded gold that made your eyelashes. 
My fingers fumbled with shivers and shakes
As I unbuttoned my bright blue jacket -
My sole shield, my single defense
Against the bite of sub-zero chill. 
You almost wouldn’t take it;
But I had seen the way the ivory of your teeth 
Clattered with every word you spoke, 
With every too-loud laugh 
That shook the stardust from the sky.
I told you I wasn’t cold, that I couldn’t feel 
The frozen teeth that tore into the gooseflesh of my arms, 
That I was numb to the wiles of weather -
It was only after I balled up the soft fabric
And pressed it to your hands
That you let yourself put it on. 
We must have looked foolish;
Wild laughter at the witching hour, two twin bells pealing
On the coldest night of winter, 
As the heavens spat shattered diamonds to the earth. 
I cannot think of downtown in winter,
Or shop windows in the snow
Without remembering the sudden singing of my heartbeat,
The iron-backed impulse 
To smooth my thumb across your knuckles,
To kiss the cold
From the cherry of your lips.
Perhaps it was for the best of both
That I stayed my hand,
And let the moment pass me by
With the subway speeding underneath us.