Rimy

The white-blues and silvers
of wintry dreams swirled in the sky above.
The frigid air has a way of
keeping me in the moment.
Breaths rise in puffs,
arms hugs me tightly
and there is a dawdle to my movements;
making my atoms shiver;
letting it rob the last whispers
of heat from my very bones.
I feel it wash over my skin,
again and again,
only to be met by the
beat of my heart,
again and again