it’s minus two degrees but she sits in just your
favourite black lace and silk ribbon ties.
she’s wearing your favourite perfume, too, and it’s
lingering in her sheets but
the pillows are lonely and she’s shivering by the window.

the mirror next to her bed lies when she smiles because
she knows you’re in someone else’s arms and
the only reason her lips are upturned is because
brown eyes look pretty when her mascara bleeds.

the empty shadows outside look suddenly inviting so she
drags her fingernails from the sill beneath
the glass panes where she carves her desperation
and floats into the darkness outside.

her delicate skin turns shades of violet and indigo
and her eyelashes begin to collect
the new snowflakes that are falling from the clouds
like they do every night you’re away.
her hair catches the moonlight as it slides down her
bare back and her spine trembles as the chill begins
to rise in her mind.

[she knows she won’t see you tonight.]

the stars worry about her because
they see her too often and the hypothermia
is no good for her heart.
the snow turns to rain as the sun begins to wake and
she stays in the mist because she finds comfort in the feeling
of drowning after another night without you.

she runs a warm bath and fills it with dead rose petals and
everything else that you love
and slowly slides off her clothes to the tempo of
what she remembers of your heartbeat.

she sinks into the water and lets it surround her head
and her mind and her eyes as
her hair strangles the water around her.

it’s not hard to resurface for air because
she knows she needs to be alive when
you need to feel her pulse and when

you realize you’re getting sick of the rain.