December

It was late December; I was young
with a matchbook – I saved a picture
of your hair all messed up. I was young,
I’ve got a new friend. Oh, it was something
and it was nothing, the curves of a road through
the rainforest. I was early December, you were
a midnight news bulletin, and I let your footprints
stain the carpet around my heart. I have no
trepidation: the tribulation and I have fallen out
of love – the sound of pedestrian crossings in the
distance. You can’t afford to lose your mind when
it’s all you have – you have fallen out of love. You
were a scratch I could itch, but I still fear you and
what you can do and I don’t know if I should. I’ll
probably forget the nightmare we met, but you
still meet me at night.