A photo posted by annabelle (@annabelleblythe) on Dec 22, 2016 at 4:53pm PST

Driving down a snow-lined country road,
you laugh and shout—
both of us
impatient to arrive.
I love the sound of your laugh,
have I ever told you that?
The way your eyes wrinkle
when it’s real.
We stumble through the red door
to the winter cold
meeting us inside;
running to find the thermostat
you build a fire
and impress me,
you city boy.
Grabbing all the blankets we can find—
blue, green, grey—
we choose to make love
right here
in front of the fire.
The cold makes us hesitant to get naked,
but we do it anyway.
Bodies
and hearts,
and we have sex
again and
again
knowing that you are mine
and I yours.
At least for this 48 hours
in this grey cabin
behind the red wood door
next to these desolate fields—
a summer town
in winter.
Here
we are alone.
Here
we can do all the things
we’ve never done,
plugging in
to what could be.
Waiting
to see if it is only infatuation
or if our hearts
will be moved—
for if they do not move
we cannot survive
for long.

Author: Annabelle Blythe

Image: Courtesy of author; all.consuming/Flickr

Editor: Nicole Cameron