the air outside was cold
the air inside lingered with the sweet smell of sweat and raw skin
the bed was consumed and the sheets were tossed
it's 3am and although it seems that time stands still when they're together, the snow still falls and the wind whispers secrets like he whispers in her ear 'i love you'
it's tomorrow but it still feels like the day she knew she loved him
it's 6am and he rolls over to see her bare back
fingertips to skin, lips to skin
he knows she loves when he kisses the back of her neck and runs his fingers down her body, top to bottom
naked but not vulnerable
and although so simple, she's aroused and he's invigorated and they're both in love

there is no physical pain that can compare to the torture your thoughts put you through

I would have moved
mountains, with my bare
hands, if you'd asked me
too

instead my hands wrap,
tight, inside themselves,
fingers weaving patterns
with each wave of
my heart beat

aching, breaking with
each rise and fall,
quick paced and
frantic

as a child, you're told

- the devil makes work
for idle thumbs -

but you are just a man

"so you've been sleeping with a thief-
        in your bed
I stole your heart-
        and your pillows"

Like Bukowski
and like Langston Hughes
I've been consumed
by the midnight blues.

A street preacher on about God and her friends
I Kick a Cigarette that's still lit and think of your brand
the way your lips softly twist around the cork when you're ******
in that small space in your new place that you kick it with friends

*But I bet you'd rather me die here in this queue that I'm in
for a no cost flu shot than to see me again