the winters
here in montauk
had frozen me
i am now
brittle bones
blood on my lips
lilac veins vivid
on my skin
silvery

i can no longer
count all these
dead nights for
my fingertips
have grown
a little numb

the exact way
the crystal stem
of the limpid glass
between yours
can never grasp
your heat

the very way
that sinful scarlet
liquid bead perch
on your full
crimson lips
unaware of its
good fortune

precisely the way
that beauty on the
other end of the
table veiled
burnt sienna
will cravingly gaze
into your worried eyes
but only one of
two hearts
will glow

the other will remain
mundane
and mine will always
**yearn