It was winter.
We had been standing out,
For some time,
Under the night sky
Vaguely looking up at the stars.
It was cold.
I was thinking for my fingers:
How I wished I’d worn gloves,
Until your hand came
Snaking after mine,
Your fingers warm and delicate.
Our breath lifted lightly from our lips,
Mixing, mingling in the moonlight
As I tried to forget
What words tasted like
Dropping from the tongue.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
bon iver fan? (:
🙂
A very sweet moment captured in your poem. I especially liked, “I was thinking for my fingers:” – as if they were your children (and her fingers her’s).
Thanks Qazse.