All morning the snow has slipped
between atoms,
a whirl of shattered shells,
soundless.
I lie quiet and cold
hypnotised by the whiteness.
The red earth is iced,
the hotel room blind.
Your lips subtracted
from the chaos I call my life.
That life turning in spirals
behind the window
like a broken record
or a Van Gogh’s sun.
How many times in my dreams
have I slept like this
on your warm coat
with a smile, drunk in the light.
How many times
have I met you in blackouts,
our love-making clear as a drug.
But the bed is not unmade,
no coat receives my head .
If only I had stolen it
when it was still our time.
The sheets wouldn’t smell
like a box
of unread letters,
I’d have your curves
to hide under.
When I look at the winter sky
it’s just a blank
getting blanker.
Soon I’ll be a secret.
Soon I’ll run to seed.
And the earth will slip open
like a ripe fig, my love,
to cover my naked hips.

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