The Morning After Christmas

It’s first light, weak and watery as my eyes.
I did it though, last night, gave a perfect surprise.
Such love in your eyes when you opened my gift.
For a moment, there was peace, no broken rift.
I shake you awake, and you smile, get up to shower,
scratch your ass in holey panties, angry at the hour.
I try to hold onto the feeling of you close, your body there,
in this old bed we only in Christmas and summer ever share.
I’ll drop you off at the airport, the high of good times already fading.
I know you’re going back to Denver and I have to stay with death’s parading.
Your voice on the phone, your quick e-mails, the jokes I send to cheer you.
Is it as hard at a mile high above me, is it hard to be seperate for you?
Dressed in denim and jacket, I just threw on jeans and hoodie, we go.
I cling to the happy girl who chrerishes me, not the angry one I’ll never know.
You’ll kiss me goodbye, and then you’ll be away until the middle of June.
Your love will not chase away the demons in the cold. For that, I have no spell or rune.
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