Sometimes the world crashes madly
Out there, and in here it smells like rain
And beats evenly at thin windows.
Inside, we are tired and naked.
It’s cooler and darker, and I’m too happy
Not to think about everything you will leave behind:
An invitation to a party, sent to your mother
At seventeen, in her burning touristy homeland,
A list of your grandfather’s horses
You’d like me to lay bets on a photograph or two,
A friend’s phone number, a note you’d written
To stick on my door when you thought I’d be out.
But I wasn’t out—instead we made awkward gestures,
Leaned into the door frame, and kissed suddenly,
For the second time. The snow still damp on your collar.
My boots drying on a plastic mat. I thought I might never
Want to see you again. Just love you from this place,
Or follow and die gently in a squall.