On Packed Snow

I begin as
the snow is

He waits at the end of road
huffing steam

I’m to cross the fresh-fallen snow and give myself away

the smokestack billows
the bated night watches

His spit in my mouth dissipates
and the pits stare

I see eyes behind the curtains
Tracing the paths of dried cum on my stomach

down to the clearing where we rolled like wolves
held by melted tracks

the sun pulls out
the snow smells animalic and knows no difference