you are like coming in from the cold,
red cheeks and breathlessness
the weight of clothes
that won’t come off
you’re like huddling by a fire
warming my hands,
fruitlessly touching
smothered in coat and mittens
you’re like falling on ice
that stomach-dropping,
hard-hitting fall
the persistence of a bruise
I feel you too
you are mountains
that cradle the sky
always right here,
even if you’re not around
you are a force of nature
hidden under a knitted hat
and a windswept scarf.
The art of spilling over 
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