There's this Polaroid you have of me in your room l'hiver dernier , you can't see my face Sauf pour my eyebrows and the dark shadow of my lips it's snowing in the background and everything is white, I can feel the cold of your room and the candles you burned, yankee McIntosh Apple, where your dressers were scented like laundry detergent Christmas lights strung across your ceiling, the nudes tucked inside A Clockwork Orange Our time happened in the winter, beneath the street lamps glowing Always within walking distance, you'd tread through the puddles 8pm to play chess in the dark living room of my house Or when we played monopoly beneath your sheets, drenched where Kaitlin and Miranda weren't people and only taboo I still played video games inside your arms and you still acted gay I enjoyed your bashful tendencies and the roughness of your skin but now but now as much as i would love to revisit those times i recall that i'm older, that i'm older that we're different and the snow would not be the same, but that picture of me in your room last winter, where you can't see my face I remember