No matter how many cables in my cable knit sweaters, no matter how many waffles in my thermals, I am cold.

Cold like wind chill in my air plane hangar of a torso. Windbreakers shredded in the face of flitting ice chips shot out from splintering ribs, frozen pipes.

But when he came inside me he brought a new type of stitch,

 a new material Gore theorized, DuPont tested,

HotHands for skiing pasted on my bronchial tubes,

stiff atrium chambers opened and lined with him

with his layers of practical trust and formidable capacity for laughter CPR.

Saliva glands solid stomata until he kissed me with his habit of verbalizing,

Seeking expression and health, balance of red arteries and blue veins

Where before I was blue lipped and shivering with anonymous anger.

It’s not the sun, the unreliable sun with its horribly bright cold days,

it is the bodily consistent heat, skin battery, blood wires.

He is unbelievably human and man and chest.

Encircling arms for weighty love and smoothing dry skin.

Finally something caught, something fecund and smothering in its possibilities,

lathering all over my larynx

 and where are these words coming from? but he put them there.