Nights like these it seems
The frigid air could break
Your ribs like corset bones
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust.
We drip and flicker like pale candles;
Suppressing grief 'neath coughs and
You sound so old when you say "darling,"
I feel too young with this surreptitious
Wiping my eyes on my girly blue blouse
That cuts at the shoulders.
Awash in heaven's solicitude,
Sometimes Catholicism's a habit, an accent I slip back into
When I think about angels and stained glass.
Please stop trying to warm your hands in mine as
Cold as marble,
My tears will be ill-timed.