There is no weather cold enough to freeze
the warmth I feel when whispering your name;
no loss of heat with plummeting degrees;
no wind to chill the burn of passionís flame.
No ice will ever cause my love to slip;
no snow that falls will ever be as deep
as my emotionís drifts when your two lips
connect with mine, or when we go to sleep
while holding hands, or when the morning finds
you laying on my shoulder, arms around
my chest, your legs embracing mine, entwined
like vines upon a trellis, tangled, bound.
This is the season when love coldly grows,
for Valentines must sprout through winterís snows.