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.