frostbitten hands snatch at the cigarette

dangling from your lips and

you stoop to meet my gaze with a hangdog expression.

i want to be angry

(god, i want to be so angry)

because cigarettes will kill you in a lifetime, and –

i have handwarmers in my fucking pocket.

but love is a two-way street, so it doesn’t matter if

my pockets are overflowing with iron powder and saltwater, or if

my hands offer woolen mittens, or if

i crank the heat in my bedroom to ninety degrees

with just the friction of my hips on yours.

love is a two-way street, and

if your frostbitten hands won’t drop their carcinogens,

you’ll freeze to death.

i cannot exhale love onto your fingertips,

bring feeling back into your bones,

without you first reaching for me.

and i want to be angry

(god, i want to be furious)

but how can i be, when the only thing

your body knows

is how to weather

a midwest

winter?

————————————–

Nix Carlson called us from Lexington, KY.

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