The witch'in
in a winter
storm,
between
us,
we arn't happy
as the car dies,
due
to the winter
that seeps us.
Domestic abuse,
of waving
sickness
of verbal obtuse
and flagging,
the car's
now empty.
I carry
no flags,
and I'm
no handyman.
I saddle up
and cuddle you,
human warmth
so we can't
be frost
in the morning.