Spoken like a true alcoholic...

Lincoln Blizzard 2009

A blanket of chastity covers
this city tonight. I've never
seen anything so pure, laced
with a burning dynamo. I stop
for a moment to let the cold
fill my lungs. December has been
kind to me for the first time
in years.

Mere hours separate this moment
and all the rest. This valley
becomes a bog as white fades
to gray. I walk along the
disappearing sidewalk listening
to the muffled sound of our
steps. Our footprints give
nothing to nothingness.

You're gone, and I continue
alone on the glass surface
of the night. I'm glad one
of us remembered I have
to do this on my own. In a
blink I'm 7:34 of a
Sunday evening in late July.

Sweat beads softly where my
hair meets my face, and
no one should feel this
comfortable in their own
skin. Somewhere in the
distance a baby is crying,
or laughing. It's hard to tell.

And just as I turn my head
to the milky, summer sunset,
I'm back. Back in my
brief, little, crystalline jungle.
Lay down with me, feel the
heat of your body melting
the world around you.

I'll need your help to
keep my angel safe, I don't
have much left to protect.
This hollow night calls home
a million haze-filled memories
of weighted branches and
chapped lips.

And we've reached our
destination just in time for
the wind to uproot the dust
from its rooftop dwelling.
It showers me in a shimmering
coat moments before it's
gone forever.