we cover each other
when the air outside is cold
and moving quickly enough
to make whistling sounds
that act as reminders
we are never more than human

the light is a tunnel
for the smoothed cubist visions
and kerouac love dives
against the kerouac circumastance

we undress each other
with coarse sandpaper fingers
suffering each trembling touch
to arrive dazed and undamaged
before the 5 am resolutions