I had never heard
a voice like yours
until I talked to you
from between the door
and I had nothing
to hide so I let you
inside because you
knocked.
We didn't even
need the fire after
our bodies touched.
When I woke
up in the morning
I was in nothing
but my socks,
with the shade of your
lips on my neck.
The same
shade of wine
that stained mine.
We were in a snow city,
well actually, it seemed that
you left; bereft, it got cold
in that dingy motel room.
I clenched the letter in my hand,
unopened, until I had my first
taste.

Ripe with rhyme, I'm
coming down now.

Your words were very clear
but I'm still not sure if you
meant them, and hell, it's
been a few years.
I still haven't sewn
the last stitch, the fists
you abused with.
Your wrists are still
bruised from when
I used you last.
It never got warmer,
I only grew colder
after that day. Or maybe,
the sun was shining
strong after all, and it was
just me that could no longer
accept what it had to offer.
Don't waste the warmth
on something that's already
frozen over.
When you left,
you buried that city of snow
along with my heart,
a long time ago.