she tiptoes on my breath in the
frosty mornings when my jagged exhale
becomes a white adventure against
the early morning chill
the contrast is inevitable in the shuddering
curve of my back and my
vibrating fingertips
my teeth are clickety-clacking
and my toes wiggling constantly
as if i am stuck in some sort of silly dance
the movement keeps me warm
and as i burn my thoughts
the steam comes out of my mouth
a chimney or a smoke stack
steam engine