i brought a thermos in my backpack. vodka in creamy hot tea is a drink most wintery. sandwiches in brown paper. you'd laid a worn out mexican-style blanket on the bench that would have been wet if it hadn't been twenty below. we ate and drank quietly, hardly speaking. the sun set on our icy lake picnic, and we dusted off half-frozen crumbs from our sleek parkas and muffle-pat our gloves clean. trees stripped bare revealed inky murders, noisy in the dusk cold. i wondered, but before i was done the thought, our lips melted glossy frost and you tasted like cold metal. the lousy noisy crow was too distracting. i felt my breath heavy with peanut butter and wished i'd brought more vodka tea.

in that short time, your bike lock froze solid to the lamp post so i walked you to the bus stop. you told me off-colour jokes and i saw your handsome face change in the sulphur-tint street lights. i imagined your scarf tied in blunt yarny knots around my wrists or even my breasts. i conjured a dark warm bedroom. i imagined a flannel sheet printed with dusty pink roses and pale green leaves. i felt your bare torso against my back, my hair loose around my shoulders and me languidly moving, lost in the heat between us.

your boots stamped off mud and slush as the bus pulled in, its air brakes groaning. as the door accordian was tapped open by an uninterested driver, you met my eyes with a gaze i couldn't read. "i'm walking, so..." your black glove slid into my blue one and squeezed and i watched our breaths mingle in the early night air. "it was nice," you said back, apologetically. crows landed in the parking lot behind us, quiet now, and the bus driver tapped the air brakes once, impatiently.

"sorry about all that," i shrugged, casting my eyes in the direction of your trapped bicycle, more drunk maybe than i realized.

looking up at the dark sky, "this can't last," you smiled kindly. then meeting my gaze again: "there will be a thaw soon enough."