Snowstorm

Snow sticks to the ground like I become a part of you instead of staying myself. 

You make me wait inside your apartment

so I can stay warm, 

avoid the cold for as long as possible, 

while you scrape piles of angelic powder

off of the roof of your car

that we are going to use to drive to 

your favorite restaurant for dinner. 

I’m new to this town, 

but you are familiar to me. 

We make pretend the shower is a karaoke bar, 

and I laugh as shampoo dribbles down 

the bridge of your nose, 

bubbles and foam, 

holding hands to our last dance. 

The cold is unforgivable, 

Jack Frost nipping 

at our hearts, 

stealing parts of us for profit. 

In the snowstorm so enchanting, 

your lips on mine are the only traces of 

that warm feeling I fall into 

when any of my thoughts echo on about you. 

This is the last time you are mine. 

You walk me around each floor of the mall 

like we’ll be able to find something

mighty enough to save us 

when we are actually just buying time. 

Our heated arguments cost too much. 

I pray for you every night, 

make your bed in the morning. 

I fold your laundry, 

gaze at you from an open window. 

I run to the door 

when you come home from work, 

into your open arms, 

we enfold to each other, 

a tight grip, a strong hold, 

the sharp knife of your love 

is invited and let in. 

We wander around the playground, 

two kids unsure of what they want, 

me thinking it’s you, 

you getting ready to move on to the next city. 

All at once, 

it comes falling down, 

slowly, dazzling, 

like glitter decorating us in richness. 

So we rush back home 

to warm meals and ignorance, 

trying to stick together for as long as we can.