We talk about the
past like it's a
movie we
watched together.
You liked the
cinematography.
I didn't care for the
cruelty of the
protagonist.

We disagree on the
theme, and every
scene holds different
aspects of
symbolism for us.
I'm not sure I want
there to be a sequel,
despite the good
acting.

Take my hand,
we'll fuse our last
                    few folding dollars together,
and we'll walk our snowbound streets
               and try to fend off the cold.
Find a place that's too familiar,
shivering hands on the door.
               Halfway laughing.
                   Half a cough
     as we protest we're still not old.

Break the skin,
I'll break the silence.
               Sigh
and watch our breaths ascend
          the frigid night.
Tell me, "Show me something beautiful
                    or let me leave the light."

Now, fill me up. Just sing that tune.
Two songs of piling rust.
                    I love
          the way you croon.
I'm just a walking ghost.
But what does that make you?
           Red-faced or blue?
           Two-faced or true?
               Do you stay?
             Or cry, "Adieu!"?

Strike the band,
they'll play the last
                    few notes of that "Civil Twilight."
and we'll speak our foolproof plans
               and try to forget the cold.
'Til you say, "That's too familiar."
Make your way to the door.
               Half a laugh.
             caught in throat
    I hope they'll draw out that last note.

Break the skin,
you **** the silence,
                    laugh-
-ing with descending face
               and frozen eyes,
saying, "Show me something beautiful
                  and let me leave the light."

Buzzing drinks, this purple sky
shrink around the orange street lights.
You told me once, it might be nice
          to know what the look
          of a winning hand looked like.

Cliched sighs were my reply.
Kept me from at least two lies.
Lines of Alaise, I'm swinging blind.
I'll play your best cue as it lies.

               Sing something sweet to me
               Raise your brown eyes to meet our city.
               My blue ones always sink;
               when the chorus kicks in
                    you look so pretty.

               I know you're not right for me.
               And, baby, I'm no good for anybody.
               But at least we share some needs
and the midnight view from the bridge on Orange Steet.

Stumbling steps and shaky laughs
and creasing lines in clasping hands.
I told you once I'd take a chance
          to see the sly curve
          of your wine-soaked shy glance

Buzzing signs, citrus street lights
Let's fall in love with urban blight.
Our voices loud, we're walking blind.
So here's my best play, one last time.

               Sing something sweet to me.
               Close my blue eyes--I love this city.
               Your brown eyes sing to me.
               We're the chorus now, babe--
                    you're bright, but I'm witty.

               Know it's been a ******* week.
               And I know I'm no good for anybody.
               But let's still our shaking knees
    and kiss a new year on the bridge on Orange Street.