Baby, you know I get lonely,
like now I’ve turned the stereo off,
heaved the car into

a slot by the pumps
but I have your name, its letters
in your marque of handwriting

upon my irises,
so when I go to feed the
snow-baptised vehicle

I think my hands work but no,
heavy numb from an absence,
there’s water in my mouth

or a little blood, a man
stupidly asking if I’m all right
but I can’t make out his face.