The delight of it all -
rain splattering skin
like tiny knives,
back of my hair
a throng of wet
sinewy stems
plastered to my neck.

I scoff blueberry
after blueberry,
perforate each
little indigo shell,
let the taste
swell as an ulcer
at the front of my tongue.

Snow becomes slush -
graphite clumps
sliced through by bicycles,
footprints of strangers overlap,
undulate as ECG lines
down alleyways,
into dimly-lit side-streets.

A couple kiss,
their lips
a strange pinky knot
of flesh and breath
outside a bar
bunged with get lucky
guys from across the bridge.

Find a bench,
allow the metallic cold
seep into my hands
like a morphine injection,
count every dull grey building,
tighten my scarf
a bit more, a bit more.