Dismal dews settling on window panes,
winds curling leaves halted our morning walks,
scattered sunlight from the fluffy duvet grey clouds,
we laid like snuggle bunnies in our own duvet.
A flurry of disapproved sunlight appeared.
We whispered whose turn to hang the pullovers activity,
gone is the warmth of feeling,
shivered I leave the snuggling fluffiness,
to hang the weekly pullovers on the hanger,
as the rain announced its occasional retreat
in this no milky weather.
Grown-up adults, we ought to have a choice.
But you laid cold under the duvet,
like I started to want the coldness of the garden,
hoping to dry my own coldness with drying pullovers.
Now the pullovers have become the mufflers of winter.
So much we were pulled towards each other and our likes,
so much we loved holding hands in gardens and sipping hot chocolate together,
each winter till I became pulled towards pullovers.
We started to take time alone.
Each coveting the others under the skin,
you looking through the window, I hanging outside the window,
we were both pulled by the pullovers,
and our urge for a cup of hot chocolate.
Our bodies felt crispy in the cold and hot chocolate smelt like years away.
Finished pullovers chore,
pleasing enough two cups of hot chocolate on the table,
you were waiting for me,
outside the duvet with our cups of hot chocolate.