why, when tucked snugly into bed
nestled in my love's warm arms,
underneath soft, heavy spread,
with the air-conditioner's charms,
hot sighs brushing 'cross us both,
the cold, early-morning winds
rattle at the window soft,
unable to sneak on in
through closed windows and locked doors,
do i feel an icy chill,
spread outwards from wint'ry cave
that my savage used to haunt?
what could he that memory can't?