You are out there, somewhere, cycling
through a heat I cannot feel, up here.
I think of the dampness in your hair
as I sit here, at seven below, and smiling.

I think of the sweat upon your skin
and how it would taste beneath my tongue.
You are so beautiful and young.
If love were ever sin, this is sin.

But I do not think that love is sin.
I know how I feel, even cold, up here.
I love the dampness in your hair,
and the beauty of you, just cycling,

And the taste of the sweat upon your skin.