Snow falls outside
the library lights go out as we walk out into it

study dates are a bit of an oxymoron aren’t they?
somehow simultaneously less date than study
less study than date

they’re the sort of thing
that leave you with more questions than answers
from calculus to what exactly was meant

we walk to my dorm
under lamp posts
and the ever present snow

a hug good-bye,
“goodnight,”
and he walks away

the snow falls more rapidly
we both turn back as if waiting