I wake to the pull of your blinking eyes
From behind your soft, tousled, and troubled hair.
You are right; I don’t belong here either.
We have an echoed conversation
My last words tumble from my mouth, a helpless “I don’t know.”
Maybe you didn’t hear the despair in my voice
Because we’ll let another month slip by before we speak again.
I feign sleep until the draft carries you out of the room.
Once you have gone, I take a careful shower
But I put on the same dirty clothes I wore yesterday
Like how the baptized still stumble around in marrow frames.
With the unique pain of abandoned friendship and cold wet hair
I limp into the blinding newborn snow.
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