Contrast

We're sitting on the bed and he is looking at me
like I am some sort of broke-wing bird
with a new year's party smile,
hollow and drunk.
Time curls around us warmly,
asking for sleep
which he gives like a compliment.

In contrast,
I am a computer screen,
new century channel surfing
with an index finger and bleary eyes.

Outside, snow has deleted the landscape
and it is bright like a bathroom light
exploding after waking up
from a nightmare.

Heat

Each one of me is
a dying sun
and you are the center
where there is still some heat.

Slowly,
black and grey and darker greys
crawl across the grass
to my toes,
pry their way under my nails,

even up and farther,
until there is no more light
and you are a trembling stone
floating behind the shadow of the moon.

Quiet

I am silenced by the
freckles in your left iris,
the way your eyelashes
catch dusk and scatter
shadows across my skin.