Bus Stop

Cold members clasp for warmth. 

Shaking; bitter winded bit. 

Coats beat each other. 

Snow pours over the walls. 

Exhaust fumes pass. 

There is no fire. 

The light is gone. 

The stars are covered. 

Eyes glare into each other. 

Hands clasp. 

Arms wrap.  

Tiny ices creep down cheeks.

Holds tighten. 

Bundle together. 

Lights come closer.

Closer. 

Closest. 

The doors open. 

The steps to haven are climbed. 

All grips separate. 

Seats are filled. 

Spaces between.