That’s how it would be
I’d forever be the one
telling your doorman
“I won’t be staying”
his accusing looks
knowing I’m only around
when the Mrs. to your Mr.
isn’t
That copy of your apartment key
that won’t be returned
because you only needed two before,
rests on my keychain.
As the doorman winks, I realize
why I’m the one worth leaving
why I’m the one with bare fingers
while her’s are adorned-
she wouldn’t do this
For I love you enough
to keep coming to you
but not enough
to leave you.

I am the traitor.
I don't believe in god, and
I especially don't believe in organized religion.
In fact, I find it irrational
and self-serving.
So why do tears spring to my eyes
as I think of the birth of
a baby I don't believe even existed?
It's not about the baby.  Or the priests.
I may go to hell for saying it,
but they don't matter.  At all.

No, it's about walking down a brick sidewalk
along a cobblestone street
arm-in-arm with a loved one,
Seeing the ancient stone churches
capped with snow and with candles in the windows,
Taking in the brightly festive lights
adorning fading brick buildings,
and knowing that there's a little more
peace in the world
as snow silently falls,
coating the world's residents
in love for one another.
Even if it is for only a few days.

You were like that day in March
the one that teases of Spring
of the hope for sunshine
of warmth.
We walked the windy streets
side by side
Fall wind chasing away daylight
into frigid evenings.
But in those evenings
standing on cracked concrete
I felt your warmth
like an Indian Summer.

As the spider-like arms clatter across
and the rounded keys are depressed with learned accuracy
a rhythm is spoken of the old, rightful ways
through the surrounding din of modernity.