moonshine December

Drain the clear glass tonight, for
If you stare into the wall glass
You may catch glimpses of sadness in its shards.

Sadness, this raging compulsion
Fueled and doused by fiery liquid in shredded knuckles
The only antidote to bitter cold in your deep December.

You, adept at flinging stars
Into her eyes. She crumbles into herself
Unable to understand the only love language you know.

Pulp her like an orange until her innards
Resemble a shape you can read. Her juices are
Tender on your raw bones and may even remind you that

For you, December ends in ten days 
For her, every month is December.


Untenable viridity

You only love auburn leaves
Rusted by acidic chills of a premature winter
Do you mistake atrophy for beauty?

Your elusive propinquity
Discoverable only by the effect of gravity on my skin
The young fray under your fingers (you say)

Verdant eyes, fledgling spirits
Snap too easily under the ferocity of bitter acrylic frosts
You term ‘the violence of your affection’.

I found your love between winter duvets
The last autumn leaves waved their solemn palms, framed by ice
As you traced their journey on my splintered face.