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Winter’s cold begins to blow over the old window
White flakes fall as the whistling crescendo comes tall
The panes fog and snow looks like rain on contact, hot
The echo of a metallic scrape takes the climax
Over and over it loops back stuck in the same three second scoop
That shoe rack drips wet next to the dry orange log tossing smoke out the vent
Keeping the porridge warm
Boots out crunch snow loud with the aluminum zoom sound of shoveled pavement
Feels like it’s been days since things have been clear
He’s made it, asphalt no longer needs payment
Complacent, handle is warm
It opens the door to steamed rooms and more
Mugged shots of heat to begin its strike at the core