She pulls at his pea coat,
Less is more.
His spine stiffens.
Her fingertips push, prod, pull.
Sliding silver buttons through tight holes,
pulling his pale arms from the sleeves,
Letting his warmth fall to the floor.
His fingers grip at air.
He remembers this,
thirty years after,
his fingers around his pretty white neck,
and knows she is the reason
he is always cold.