Love in the Winter

Time slows

As his shovel slams

Cracks and destroys the ice

My breath freezes and

Shatters in my chest

As my thoughts stop

To a point of reversal.

Our bodies pass,

Lips alined to his neck

And musky smell

Of wood and age.

As my foot takes it’s final moment

In slow motion

I have to catch my fingertips

From reaching back

And touching

His wool cap and wrinkled jeans

I have to catch my eyelashes

From wishing they could be the razors

That hugged and kissed

His neck—his chin

And embraced his deep smile lines.

Through the Nights

This bed I lay upon reaches its hands up through

the mattress and ties the muscles in my back as if

they were laces in a shoe. Ones to be laces and

unlaced without mercy. This bed I rest my head

upon that once embraced the two of us now holds me

hostage as sheets wrap around my mouth. My legs

and arms unable to move as the sheets wrap secure

around them. This bed that was able to soak up all

of our movements and sweat for so long has turned

it pillows to cold pavement and whispers the mocking

words of “how can you stomach yourself” while lusting

after the tears that fall between the cracks. But with each day,

the knots loosen and the words are silenced as my dreams

of falling fast into my pillow of concrete fades to black.