Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Untitled #19

We receive a boost in the winter
The thickness of the flakes
Convincing us both
That out sweet nothings
Translate universally

I look forward to the warnings
The both of us planning ahead
Purchasing miniaturized zip lock bags
And trudging through the imprinted, childlike footprints
In their backyards

We then breathe in
At odd intervals
White smoke and permanent grins
The warmth from the rumbling space heater
Keeping our names indefinitely engraved in the couch cushions

There are a few interruptions
But not many
Just loud shouts from his mother
About dinner

She has a soft and worn quality to her face
Multiple lovers frequently sneaking out the bathroom window
Into the cold

I almost feel sorry for the three of us
Quietly forking out second helpings,
The final serving
Intended for a new mystery man
And now split between the three of us

But I don't have the heart to tell either of them
how full I've become in the past few months

- C.W.

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