please dispense with the formalities
it is november outside
cold and deformed
without pity for pauses
or grammar
or awkward endings
there are no fires in this place
only regrets of wasted flames;
they eloped with the sun
when summer left the door open.
now winter sleeps in our beds
we wake in frost
we wait for afternoon hours
to thaw our words.
tomorrow we will start a new fire
grope for kindling conversation
forget that it is November
drink wine

11/10/2005

Author's Note: Are you cold?

Posted on 11/13/2005
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