Winter in that place a howling draft frosted the air when i laughed and crawled under the door to bite my toes and snuck up my spine- a place where everyone froze so i’m driving away my tires cut the snow from the streets and it’s all dirty white where the lonely cold meets so i’m driving to you where my loud laughter is eaten by your mouth and my toes aren’t chased after but kept warm under yours and we play piano down our spines and out there on the streets the evergreen pines don’t die in a gutter but bleed brown needles into a cold dead clutter Meredith Jones. If you've any comments on this poem, Meredith Jones would be pleased to hear them.