1

The world is ice.
The world is thorn.
It doesn’t matter how often you ask
No one will ever love you
The way you want to be loved.

2

They won’t, not for a moment,
Put down their forks. Won’t
Lean on their shovels
Or hang up the phone,
No matter how beautifully you sigh.

3

The days turn over, one by one,
Like the cards in a game of stud poker.
Hands, cock, hair.
One is closed.
One is limp.
The other thins.

4

Wind, moon. heart.
One you can’t see.
One is vain as pastry.
The last is hollow, hollow, hollow.

5

Enamored with the rough edges of the world
I dream of friction and of the sparks
That fly from your flesh
When it’s scraping mine.