Warm

Not like when air stands still, stale

and roll up your sleeves, pull at you collar
but like soft-baked bread in your hand

moments after removed from the oven.

Not like how coffee tastes after having sat 

but like fingers pressed against heater vents

hours after dredging them in snow.

It’s the ahhh factor, the ohhh, that is so nice sentiment.

It’s his hand on my cheek or pressed lovingly at my neck.

It’s the soft words he uses when I least expect him to be soft.

It's my arm across his bare chest as we drift off to sleep.