We kick a heart into the snow with our winter boots

Drop our wet things to the floor, 

             climb the stairs in our underwear
 

From the window, two question marks, each 

asking the other. 		        We kiss, a symmetry 

of imperfection, a shape no math


             could predict. We sleep and listen 

to the radiator tend our shirts and socks. Listen 


to see if the form we made  		holds through the night

In the morning we go back and pierce it clear through

with an arrow where it swells the most




____

Jeffrey Hermann‘s poetry and prose has appeared in Hobart, Palette Poetry, trampset, Juked, Kissing Dynamite, The Shore, and other publications. Though less publicized, he finds his work as a father and husband to be rewarding beyond measure