It was, honestly, a little too cold
when you first told me to stay longer—
when it felt like we couldn’t stop
standing in the dark parking lot
before kissing; although,
I am thankful, now,
that it was just starting to warm up
when you pushed me away

You said you loved me
as you pulled off my sweater
& the candles burned,
as frost glazed the windshields
before you barely caught your flight home,
& when you had no other option
but to hold me for warmth

You never got to make love
to me when we were already sweaty
(I’m sure your sex is better now,
anyway), & you didn’t get
to watch me bloom
as the plants bloom outside—
somehow, I regret the little I did show
you (though, truly, answer me—
what did I show you?)

You said you loved me in the cold,
but you left me with vomit
running down my neck—fucked
another man while I cried,
huddled like an infant
in my dark room—running
a blade over my finger

I praise God that it was only the cold
that you tainted; heat lingers
in the sky, but I only know you
in terms of the damp & cold