i’m slowly turning into you.
the snowdust over concrete parking lots
like powdered sugar off a pancake
after the first big bite
it’s so cold outside
I’m walking home
alone
a bit drunk
a bit piqued
a bit lonely
all of which goes without
saying
I wish I could love you
you’d be such a great fit
such a nice pair of arms
to rest my head
my whole being
my heart in
I’ve made it into the foyer
of my complex
the light is out
but everyone’s home
the foyer, a holding pen
for all the times I
wanted
you
to grab my face
and kiss me
or hit me
or just let my skin feel
yours
there’s snow scampering into
the staircase as fast as
it can as I close the door
you’re so goddamn talented
so fucking brilliant
I don’t want to insult
your
intelligence
the stairs insinuate warmth
the way a Norman Rockell painting
does family
ancient yellow lights illuminate
the promise of bed and base metals
and battlegrounds
where no yelling took place
just silent slices into the
thick velvet overcoat
of how much I do not like her
the snow has found
its way
into my apartment
a complex completely free
of complication
because she isn’t back
yet
I won’t look outside
I will fall straight to
bed
vodka heavy on my tongue
you heavy on my consicence
me heavy breathing undersheets
I’m sorry I’m not a nice
patchwork in your quilt
I’m sorry I’m not a winsome
token of your masculinity
I’m sorry I can’t look you in
the eye without wondering
if
this
could
should
won’t work
the snow has taken a pause
giving room for the ice
to settle comfortably on all
the places you’ll walk tomorrow.
