somebody else’s clothes.

you know
i’m not built for the cold, i
slink through winter with
numb fingers, waiting watching
and giving in to the first warm
breeze i find- i’d head south
but i know i’d miss the trees.

your letters are stacked on the table, unread;
this morning i spilled the coffee and let the ink run.

what i mean is, some colors fade faster,
like red before blue,
i guess it depends on the light:

i hope
you make it through january,
i hope boston is paved with girls
and poetry
and liquor,
i hope you’ve got a heavy coat
and yes,
i hope that you don’t come home.