november

It was November
When the oven-baked Summer
cloud-covered, appearing as a flash-back scene
in a bad movie,
Sepia. And I flashback to
those grey-scaled days
when the rain soaked my ankle socks
swimming in those unworn, oversized Doc Martens,
And the grey walls watched me dry off
with a hot comb.

Because there was no warmth here.

With no control over the thermostat,
I crawl under my skin like a warm blanket
And turn into a New Yorker cartoon
With a huge head and tiny body
Trapped in my own thoughts,
Trapped in a thunderstorm.

But then there is you.
I wonder how you thaw out
On those sub-zero Saturdays...
Do your tears freeze like icicles?
Or do you laugh at your own red nose
Like a clown fogging up a mirror?

I think about you when the sky digests the light
Because you are light, and the moon is your smile
whispering to me
from the East


And I'm a sudden furnace
and my socks are dry.