Riding atop one of those tourist double decker buses, headed out from the city, I get the inclination.  I bury my head in your neck and kiss, and you are transported to where there's no cold, no birds and no sun.  We are alone up here.  I ask if you would want to stay a few days.  You want to say yes and then everything else comes back.  The sun, birds and cold and you tell me you really want to go to Pinehurst and you can't afford to stay with me at all.  You even threw a party to raise money.  A World War Three themed party.  I tell you that's a horrible theme for a party.  You're not listening.  You're gone again, the steam of my breath keeping you warm, buried in each other until I wake from my chest aching, my feet gone numb.  This is every night.