Snow on My Mind

The snow looked cold and wet but I only felt the warmth of her breasts against my chest. Fortunately, and unfortunately, it was all happening in my head; a waking dream or hallucination against loneliness in winter. In summer, her breasts would have felt much warmer, but winter was the season abreast in every direction, with a northern wind freezing almost everything.

It is no wonder that I had snow on my mind. It was snowing everywhere, even on her toes, but that is another story, and in that one, it rained. Here, the snow was stealing the show, or at least trying to, no matter that it turned to water with a whim; a subjective state which I refuse to discuss, unless Groundhog Day announces an early spring. I do not remember when I decided that I loved, liked, autumn the most. I must have fallen in my childhood. I did, but that is surely another story.

The snow was on my mind because I still miss the warmth of her breasts against my senses. I would have accepted to only be able to see her from hair to toes in every angle of spacetime. She would have become my favourite spice for every recipe, even sparkling water. I would have touched her skin and felt alive and more fortunate than a god. I would have listened to her and heard her calling my name or heralding her nearing orgasm.

I may have liked snow had it been blue.