Spite contorted smiles
And lips
Drenched in green
Sought the satins that never
Satisfy – Sheets, fallen,
Wings, blistered,
And holes burnt through the
Bottoms of shoes.

So I pace myself parallel
The corner of one left
Eye, peripheral and
Gazing to the
Two-step-stumble
I now partake;
An answer to
Her dance with
Impending desire.

Me, being the reluctant,
Me, being the timid, the torrent
And soon to blow over.

I know I’ll leave,
She didn’t,
And more importantly,
I know she’d find home,
Discovered, empty
With little more than
Lint in pocket, abandoned,
Just one lonely shiver
And looking for warm.

So if my cold hadn’t taken over
Not quite yet,
I’d give her a
Blanket,
It’s the best I can do,
It’s all I can do,
But at least it’s
Something I can do.