You’ve already crept out of bed
by the time the smell of your instant coffee
awakens me to this early February morning.
It’s too chill to be brave
and get up without a comforter
wrapped around the body.
It engulfs me in down and
a lingering smell of laundry soap.
Outside snow is melting into fog
and it floats between tree branches
and muddied earth.
The birds are lazy singers today
but a mother deer and her doe
nibble on the grass field,
mom glancing towards our cottage
through the low mist
as if she can see through the blinds.
She doesn’t see you come up behind me,
as you squeeze me in your forearms.
The comforter falls
to the worn wood floors in silence
and now there’s nothing but wool socks
As you cup me in your hands,
a warmth fills this drafty house,
fills this winter day,
and I begin to soften into you.
Cover Image by Madison Case. Edited by Caitlin Andrews.