Sweater Weather
On this cold day.
Inside all these layers.
What mad desire
it is to want to fold
myself
under all these covers,
into you, exposed,
trembling, skin
to skin, and
single-minded, driven
to excavation down
through wool and cotton
strata, human
strip-mining, ripping
away the sweaters,
socks, thick mittens.
Drilling down to bedrock.
The grinding shudder.
The heat that's stored,
then released when we
breach the core.
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