Tonight I will forget
the girl with the ribbons
that curled around her hair like ivy;
whose hands were almost as cold
as her heart.

I read into her
like the pages of a book,
and I mapped the corners of each page
with my thumb,
though it was she who veiled me
in fingerprints.

I wanted to memorize her,
but the pages were split apart
and on some days
entire chapters would disappear.

She funneled a private winter
to my blazing August nights,
and even when shut up in the smallest, warmest chamber,
I shivered all the same.

I submerged myself in her
as if she were the night
and foolishly I pushed to see past
the sharp, silver moons that hung
preceding nothing more than contempt.

In the snowy afternoon
I peel myself from her
and soon the night is nothing more than
limbo between dusk and dawn.