In the night, the gray clouds repose
low above our heads and the
confetti snow fills in the air
blowing every which way as if the
watchman dropped a snowbomb on
our silent whistling word and
in the midst of the which way
I inch in futile rubber boots and
make my way to the brass door knob and
I ring the bell of your new
four hundred dollar apartment
and even as I QUIETLY (quietly!)
close it hence a serpent of
snow and wind slithers out of the
whiteness and is scattered by
the manufactured glow of the radiator
and my uncomfortable appendages
thaw and my tense brow unfurrows and
the champagne pops! then settles and
my inner spring uncoils...
I loved you so painfully I could not write the word.
Winter 2010
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