November,
I am frayed
at the edges
so be kind
the others
have not

There's this Polaroid you have of me
in your room l'hiver dernier , you can't see my face
Sauf pour my eyebrows and the dark shadow of my lips
it's snowing in the background and
everything is white, I can feel the cold of your room
and the candles you burned, yankee
McIntosh Apple, where your dressers were scented like laundry detergent
Christmas lights strung across your ceiling, the nudes tucked inside A Clockwork Orange
Our time happened in the winter, beneath the street lamps glowing
Always within walking distance, you'd tread through the puddles
8pm to play chess in the dark living room of my house
Or when we played monopoly beneath your sheets, drenched
where Kaitlin and Miranda weren't people and only taboo
I still played video games inside your arms and you still acted gay
I enjoyed your bashful tendencies and the roughness of your skin
but now
but now
as much as i would love to revisit those times
i recall that i'm older, that i'm older
that we're different and the snow would
not be the same, but that picture of me
in your room last winter, where you can't see my face
I remember