I was holding the mug like a body in pain

on the coldest day of a cold new year

when I thought of your face and dropped it.

That was a harsh winter. Exchanging our gifts

I clung to the radiator and thanked you

as if you’d looked me in the eyes.

This, I think, is the closest I got to your lips

every morning now blue in a bin-bag

like my ziplocked heart. I gathered myself,

scraped my prayers from the linoleum,

then tossed it. And this is how I live now.

Down on my knees

scooping up my hurt with bare hands

and calling it love.