Outside it is dark.
The door opens to a gust of cold wind
That ought to chill the bones
But I don't mind it.
Rather I'm warmed by the air softly singing
of woodsmoke somewhere across town.
Fresh. Refreshing. Reminiscing.
A mind full of snowball memories
and cocoa chilled with ice from the gutters-

Ice that precariously hung
Over the hatted heads and scarfed necks
Of boys in oxfords, girls in jumpers-
Their cheeks rosy and full.

But every winter
They grew a little shallower
A little greyer under the early dusk.
Till one year
Under the orange glow of the city lights on a winter's night
Their cheeks were no longer there.
More so shrunken- a lack thereof.
Gaunt skin under deepset eyes
Bloodshot, nervous, twitching
Revealing masochistic machinations
Behind such sallow skin.

But this year, this current one
They are full again and blushing red.
Red with wine, red with beer
With warm whiskey and forgotten fear.
And they're eyes are pearly white.
And they laugh in the face of the bitter night
By a fire with bound books and brandy, sipping safe in the softest snow.

Forgotten are the adolescent aches
Forgotten all sins and sighs.
Sweatered men with cardigan'd women
Sitting sweetly on their thoughtful thighs.

I liked it...although lines 3/4/5 seemed..choppy to me.