A clock and you me alone in a room with time
to settle accounts, still time enough to bare and binge,
to rewrite ends, swapping thoughts that make us cringe,
some so hot & fierce they make our memories singe.
The clock and I are willing but the flesh is weak.
I worry what the wound in you might speak.
Before the snow of last night’s furies melt
love would not be a bad wrap,
tell me what you felt.
I see crystals heaped three inches deep
on a branch of the Magnolia tree
where they thaw and drop for you and me