Icy breaths that flood the fine filagrees of my red veins blue; chest aflame from the stale lung-air of cold cadavers just out of the icebox. Oversized hands in too-small mittens that fray at the edges, pink skin scrambling to inch beneath the woolly warmth of coffee-stained palms.
A reindeer nose pressed to the wet pane of big city views; and white origami roofs that light up the constructed yellow night of a snow-swept metropolis trying to close it's eyes on the world. A fire that crackles in the grate like a stock whip; bed hair; white sheet togas that bandage around limbs imprisoned by limbs; a flesh knot held together by a common love for all things merry, bright and giving.
A gift-wrapped heart sits in wait at the foot of a towering pine dressed in his crystal best, while bejeweled emerald fingers stretch away from a five-point chapeau that dances with the brilliant reflection of firelight.
It keeps out my cold.
But then again, so does winter.
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