frosted
lawn
freezing

toetips
through
sheepskin
uggboots

but
st­ill
we
prance
dance

leaving
tracks
in
the
delicate
purity

of
this
cold
unexpected
mid-winter
morning
gift

Something is broken.  And something hides out, cold, in thicket brush
shadowed by the thundering asphalt, tugging at its sleeves while
marveling of how the stars create such snowy, clear cold that touches their nose, their toetips, and their still forming *******.

And yet, awake.  They feel something warm-- click, slip, whip and crackle at the touch-- sparkle, like a human heart, nestled between gasps and shouts of their mother
in a rage.  There is a moon tonight, and her fury does nothing but deepen the chill
of the skin of their bare wrists against the weeds.

And something is broken.  And something wishes to recreate its sparkling whiteness
with warm sinews, blood-- a new heart, perhaps. Tiny fingers curled inside their barely
warming winter coat, they head for the house, where the hearth is slightly less freezing.

apprently I am not alone
but sometimes
   in the middle of the night
  when my foot kicks of the covers
and the fan above me circles around
  spraying cold air on curled toetips
and I cannot sleep
I can't find someone to talk to
sometimes
   when its not quite what I said
  but I can't quite say what I mean
      because I'm afraid of what that means
     and maybe it'll go away
                            anyways
I feel alone
sometimes
     though they love me
   and they kiss me on the lips
    the cheek
      closed eyelids (my favorite,
                        almost itself a dream)
     though they tell me
          and I feel it
I get in my own head about it
sometimes
       it hurts me in the longrun
     because sometimes it never goes away
   and though they kiss me (my favorite)

it's the inside of eyelids
    that keep me up