9410 GRANGE AVE

Hail hammers shingles,
pounds spikes of ice
clean through the pink
clouds between the studs,
straight down to our pillows.
But, ice doesn’t stand a chance
in our fiery bed. Our sheets
are in flames. And just because I glide
so easily into the ember
between your thighs
doesn’t mean we’ll soon smelt
into one heart.

Let’s be crystal clear.
I am a nuclear winter storm.
I will not melt. You are a tiny crocus brawling
through a frozen crust.
You have the rust and stains
to prove it. But spread your
petal smile wide for the crawling window
of my eastern sun. There is a spring
behind the squall. A warm fire waiting.