Fireplace

I know    
it's you and I for good  
because when you murmur my name  
I am hugged by the heat  
of leaping childhood fires:  
tall and friendly, licking the bricks  
where I'd linger too long,  
safe warmth to sip  
till my back would itch.  
   
Other men charm me; yes,  
their snow spots the window -    
I may make my shameless rushes  
outside  
and romp around  
in winter's deep feet,  
its fresh whipping breeze,  
until the chill renders mittens  
and boots obsolete -  
   
I'll always bring my windburned,  
scarlet,  
dimpled cheeks  
home,  
where I can thaw the freeze,  
drink too much heat,  
and softly, simply  
 fall  
asleep.