a pale shade of pink warms the dead
web of branches
and the grit of brick
behind my back
but inside the shear sweater
the wind seeps
awakening ghosts
that kicks the brittle leaves
and forgotten notes
taunting my skin
like cruel words boys say
coloring the flesh of my breath white
like when we kissed under bleachers
steeping a fear
that you won’t show
that you’ll stay hidden behind a paint-chipped locker
that you’ll stay cold behind your jersey
that I’m not enough to keep you warm