ice

Can you pull up a lawn chair?

I finally saw your face

I sunk in bathwater to meet you between my dreams

 

I pretend this grass is snow

and my hands you hold

and the sun is old

and I-love-yous are told

and snow and old and cold

 

But just cold

because I’ve kicked off every blanket and my bare skin

and the ceiling fan rotates and creaks and grinds

it cuts off the thoughts that float upward in wisps of smoke

burning from the ends of incense

smelling like wet cigarettes

 

 

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