His chest panels open/close. I withhold his breath, his voice dangling over my throat, teasing sound.

I pluck my chords--out of tune, my voice cracks, fails.

My restlessness chases the warmth.

I tie my tongue into knots--the wrong words. On the couch, I curl into myself, her knitting needles click to heartbeat time; she tells me it's just my nerves. We blamed the thaw and all of its agitated inconstancies--fickle breeze tangled in my hair. The difference between the air and my skin. I tapped my finger in rhythm with her needles.