segue

(this is not a poem)

sadness can cool fingertips. tired with the weight. heavy with blue. flushed with bitter cold. it's trickling in my ears.

our will is more potent that fifty atom bombs.
(you would cry if you could see what you have done. no mess, no beauty)

i know i saw your eyes catch mine.

if i were to crawl
palms, knees, indentations itching,
across the grass
i'd never connect.
i love the distraction.