Radiating

What a little treasure, to stand before the busy radiator
and bask at it bakes the backs of my legs.
You smile my way as if to say
that this is your favorite time of the day.

Out the frozen frosted window
far below this tiny home,
Snow piles and whirls and whistles and blows
while little people hurry, slowly,
bundled beneath their jackets and coats.
They're headed home to their hearths
beyond the breath
of the icy cold dark winters night. 

And you look at me from your piles of pillows
feathers and sheets,
and I look at you and I'll tell you the truth,
that this part is my favorite part of it too.