Frigid

In honor of the fact that my apartment is freezing..here's a little poem I wrote years ago.

A cool breeze blows against my skin.

Or was that just your touch?

Am I not good enough for her?

You can't make me better.

You will water me down.

Freeze me,

And kill my flavor.

Sure you'll add atmosphere,

Rattling in my glass,

Pushing me aside.

But she can't drink atmosphere

As she walks across the room.

         A man approaches her from behind,

         His lines are as cheap as his motivation.

         He looks misplaced in his tuxedo.

         She shudders,

         But agrees to dance

         Since he already infected her black dress

         With his hand on her back.

She sets us down on a table as an afterthought.

My bubbles hate you,

You know.

They only act like they like clinging to you.

It just feels like they are a massage.

That is not their goal.

         As he spins her around on the floor

         She "accidentally" steps on his feet.

         He thinks she is trying to get closer.

She and I are both trapped here

Sick of being played with.

Too tired to think of an excuse.

Go on,

Keep thinking you are what she loves.

The rest of the world knows

That she hates the way you bounce off her nose as she drinks.

         The way you hold her too tight.

         Suffocating her

         With your cologne.

You are just obstacles.