It is lovely

Watching you sleep

Perchance to dream

And with the late snow storm

Whitening outside like hungry baker

Spilling his bag of flour

We cocoon ourselves

Close by spitting fire

Casting spirit animals on chalky walls

The photos of your ancestors

Their ink held eyes glaring

I fear they may not understand

Our kind of intimacy

Their world scrapped tenderness

For raw knuckled survival, no time for choice

Yet we knead our own rise with weary elbows

Perhaps the nature of love has changed clothes

And now wears matching nightgowns, joining toes under blankets

Reading books with curling corners, still watching with appreciation

When like a slip of shimmering glass

You get up to draw the curtains

Only the sound of falling snow

Hushed against our warm roof

Can be heard in this wide world