Slope

One light on
casting orange night 
enough to see
leaving the rest
to my imagination 
of the body
next to me
once humidly familiar 
now under the 
freshly fallen snow 
of heavy blankets 
that rise and 
fall like the 
downhill ski slopes 
of the buried 
mountain you are
and at the 
bottom last nights 
clothes pool like 
a glacial lake 
where the once
last night you 
began to thaw