It is truly cold out, 32 degrees,
and into late night.

But, in order for me to write

I stay up late, eating ****** Nuts and ice-cream
and letting my feet freeze.

I love this poem, but it is going to break my heart.  For

I wanted life for my Love.  There were such beautiful things about him.
Yet, the demons in him sought his death in ways so cruel.

He was Man who loved family, friends, and thrilled to living life within
Brief moments; when the ugly moments waned or his demons tired out.

The distruction, which we have made will drive us to our own, I've seen.
If I were a brain surgeon I would have gone in and exspunged the parts

That slowly ate at your heart, my Love, my always Love.

Waiting for Spring, lovely, tall ladies hold their breath and eye one another.
"Do we dare to open to the season?  Catch a breath?"

The dry leaves will soon crumble in the warm sun
And crunch under our feet; just so much fodder for chic maidens.

Inhale deeply Sol's rays.  Breathe!  Open to the season
And don your Spring bonnets, full-petaled.

When we are old and gray
(Which isn't so far away!)
Nicessity will call upon me to say,
"Honey, put your teeth in!"

Only the sum of a room,
Just so much accumulated stuff.

Once, I began to fall in love
With a man.  But it was his room,
The sum of his things, which cemented it.

As it turns out, he could not maintain his worth,
His values were papier-mâché;

And the objects in his room told lies.

Are we junk?  Waste,
Shard and smear,
Empty symbol made by
“Doled out Poet’s papers,
Hoarded like sweets?”

Our awkward secrets
stumble
cislunar.