that last evening

streetlights twinkle softly winking

through fogged nose-perched lenses

down the street

at just.  past.  dusk.

skin-nipping chill bathes hands

swinging by-sides, by-sides, but

besides, all else gently filled with

heart pumping hot-cocoa warmth

rising slowly to the head crowned in clouds

much in the manner of contentment.

the tiniest breeze

brushes past a hand raised in vague greeting

to carry a faint musk

past one nostril

sending thoughts flickering flamelike back

—to  you, 4.3 minutes behind

in an open doorway moment
I can still taste

on my tongue.