I look at you under the cabin
arms around her peek-a-boo waist,
rubbing her skin with the thin layer
of spilt beer on your hands.
The snow is falling in little specs
like words out of your mouth,
the lights inside keep dimming
with the slaps of people's hands
hitting the ceiling as they dance
to the beat of cheap pop music,
cigarette smoke waving the frozen air
like paint mixing on a palette.
Sloppy, you turn to me letting go of her
rubbing your eyes trying to catch yourself
on the pillar to your right.
Another swig of your drink,
you ask where I've been.
I didn't know how to answer.
I've always been here.
She comes up to your side,
leaning into your ribs like a bridge
that carry her over to your lips.
You looked at me to say something,
but your tongue was too busy
tasting the liquor in her mouth.
I turn my head tucking the hair behind my ear
pretending I was anywhere but here.
She pulls away with such sound
just to make sure I heard her
poison your sweet candy center
with promises of bare and willing.
With one giant tug she immediately has
your hand in her front pocket and looks at me
with glassy eyes full of determination
a smirk with glances towards you,
gray sweatshirt perfection,
then back at me just so I know
that she won with pursed lips and a chuckle.

As she wildly begs you to come inside,
your reluctantly turn
but look back at me
with the clearest definition:
"I'm sorry, but this is the way it is."
Yes, this is the way it is.
You, head spinning with intoxication
partying back inside, because you don't know
what else better there is to do
waking up in the morning
not knowing who's next to you.
And then there's me,
standing out in the cold
putting my hands back in their mittens
looking up at the yellow light in the window
catching your silhouette wrapping around hers,
but backing away without a tear
not even tempted
to go in and stop you,
I've lost you.
and I'm sorry
but that's the way it is.