Constellations on a winter’s night—
fogging and clearing from the heaves
of your icy breaths.
The blue snowman
is mute in this backwoods lot.
Silver slivers drape his ridiculous head
and lash his button eyes.
Nobody is around.
Nobody will drive by at this time of night.
You’ve imagined this moment for years.
Take off your clothes.
Tramp barefoot on the frozen crust
to the snowman until your noses touch—
kiss and embrace him.
Step back, reeling, shivering.
Look up into the magnificent zodiac.
Tell no one. Ever.