First Snow

First Snow

Even when you expect it, it's still a surprise.
Snow clouds never hold the same warning pain
as storms that make the summer skies cry.

Walking through memories in Central Park.
The growing wind unwinds your scarf;
my fingertips graze your neck as I wrap it again.
We kissed on that bench, under that tree
and everywhere between. A spring day,
the first our hands met.

Fresh snowflakes land in your lowered lashes.
You stick out your tongue with childish delight
to catch another, your lips still warm
as a spring day past.