My head is floating and balance shaking
And my shell is cold to the touch.

The skin under my fingertips is tingling
And i cannot tell if it is the cold from the balcony thawing,
The rain dripping through the slats freezing,
Or the memory of your heart in my hands.  

I think of how tempting the offer is to climb
Into another and another and another man’s bed.
And so I charm and dangle my body and words,
Angled so they will drip into their open palms
And they will drink with reckless abandon.  

And I hear them still outside, words oozing in,
And I hear them devise plans of your demise
And I still hear you echoing endlessly in my ears
And somehow you win.

Or maybe it is the smoke still in my lungs that i carried back inside.