Snow came round when night came
and it came hard.

Outside my rosy enclave
on the 21st floor
overlooking pristine Central Park
is a terrace swamped with snow
6 inches deep.

Far too beautiful
to be inside
so I take my socks off
my shirt off
pants, and skimpy boxer shorts
I open the window
and gingerly catapult myself
into the snowy banks of suicide freefall

my feet land
and they freeze
burning, terrorized by
the frosty flakes draping cement

the wind blows the snow
flakes into a swirling fantasy
they graze my nipples
hard as ice
my long abdominal muscles flex
in response to tight cold
and the schismatic temperatures and freerange air
excite me to a great degree
as I stand in cherished agony
I rub myself with snow
and scream shivering into the air:

“I am here!
I am me!
I am you!
and I and we are beautiful!”

I return to the inside,
my fizzy feet tingling,
unable to stand the beauty any longer
snow drags in on my floor
and melts as I write
on a loose swivel chair,
still nude, my legs spread
suggestively to the open window
begging the steamy night air
to deflower me,
still quaking like a virgin
with nervous anxiety.