This doesn’t stop me.
Thoughts of you in a low-lit room,
licking the paint off my walls.

You could become
my creature of habit.
If that’s what you have planned,
sit on my lap for a while.

These songs enter slowly
and then speed up
until we’re dizzy, dizzy
but it doesn’t count for much
at 2 a.m.

Then you said, “Tell me,
tell me if you’re believing
this lie?”

And I couldn’t say no,
because I bought every word, Love.

I walked on your back
because it needed crackin’
and you grunt the air out
because there was no place
for it to go.

But your back was sturdy
and I wasn’t shy
so here I am wondering
with my throat bone dry.

And you’ll keep on lyin’
and lying here
waiting for me to disprove you.

And I can’t.

Because I already told you…
I’m hanging on your every word,

Love.

Luv.

L-O-V-E!

Here comes the
dream again.
Snails winding
their way through
snow.
Making little slime trails
(as snails will do).

You are sitting
a great distance away
in a school chair;
the hard, plastic, orange kind
with metal legs
and slats in the back
for breathing room.
You look warm
and ever so inviting
in your down coat.
In your lap,
you hold what appears to be
my heart,

but I could never
be sure it’s mine.
I’ve given it away
too frequently
and it’s probable
I never recovered it
the last time.

I can’t get to you
quickly enough.
I’m sure an idiot
in my bra and boxer shorts,
but lucky day,
I remembered my moon boots.
They prove cumbersome
in my attempt to trudge,
and this snow
is powder.
A skiers dream,
my worst nightmare.
My skin is turning
bright red,
as the snow pelts my face.
My hands are hot and tingly.
The snails cruise passed me,
leaving slime trails
(as snails will do)
and they whisper,
“You’ll never win!”

Your eyes are the color
of caramel latte,
but I can’t make out
your other features.
And DAMN these boots
and what I believe is
my cold-cold, used-up,
frozen heart.