I woke up and slipped back
(into your arms with your cold hands
pressing flat against my torso.
You put your nose in my hair and I shook;
you told me I smelled clean.
Your hands were under my shirt and resting
there. Cold hands that burned like dry ice,
like the filmy haze of your eyes.
I could hear the catch in your voice
choking out while I trembled there
weakly as those cold hands
sapped me dry, dry, dry.
You said you were sorry
as tears rolled sideways down the bridge of my nose.
And you loved me then with your cool hands on curves.)
into a dream,
shivering with the window left open.