If I am a roughly cobbled sidewalk,
You, to me, will be like feathered snowfall in the sleepy hours of the night,
When no one is awake to see or hear our rash decisions.
You may drape yourself around me, and in stillness I will let you fill and cover these ridges in brilliant, blistering white.
But when the warmth of morning comes, you will melt away to nothing.
I will let you, and I will remain – unchanged, unscathed, and only slightly colder.