After Midnight

After midnight
the soles of our
shoes slide along
the icy walkways;

fingers clasped tight
over our mouths to
keep the laughter at bay, though
the silence of the snowstorm
is louder than the forbidden
tunnels of our parents snores
just a few houses down,

and I ponder the
shape of your ungloved
palm as it contours to an un-thrown
snowball.

The wind wails;
an old woman sound,
something that I have
not grown into yet
like a pair of jeans I've
yet to purchase.

After midnight
our tongues suck
into the corners of
our mouths, suctioning
teeth, the sagging sky
colorless, and for a while
we are the only creatures
left stalking the wild world.