It's better in the winter:
mukluks, woolens, socks and scarves
unwind like so much baby bunting
to reveal the season's surprise.

The lamb's-fleece peels off in showers
of melting ice and snow. In summer,
the silk of a negligée is too much
clothing to be borne. In winter,

the excitement is in the discovery
of the warmth of a human body
buried in the prepositional
accoutrements of the winter season:

Under. Between. Beneath.
Inside so much snowbound gift-wrapping,
underneath the hints of lanolin,
denim, and windchill: you.