When it snows, I beg my lover

to walk outside & listen to music with me. I love

 

the cold & how our snuggled bodies come

together like bugs sucked

 

by a venus flytrap. The night air

means dry skin & like I was taught,

 

I smear Vaseline on my face.

I want to call my mother

 

& tell her my use of her secrets—

to be told again about the perks

 

of soft clothes & wool socks—

the comfort of our spring daisies

 

& their velvet wombs

where a song of past

 

reveals itself.

Inside, I have to ask:

 

What song did you first play me?

Did you ever squeeze

 

your tummy against a speaker

& let the waves of fluid rock

 

me to sleep? Do I listen

to this song? In my softest moments,

 

do I press play & tell my lover,

I know all the lyrics to this one.