in the winter,
water runs colder through the pipes.
the same way that I feel your blood has begun to run colder
through your stiff, drying veins.

the first few sips of my green tea always taste bitter,
despite copious amounts of honey.
the same way your words have gotten sharper,
more than a dull annoyance in my side.

accusations are colder than the freezing water spouting from the kitchen sink.
and they chill me to the core of my bones,
shaking me with anger,
grinding my teeth to a dust of metal and bone.

after all this time you would have thought
the water would have warmed,
your veins would have thawed.

but you're just as cold as you were from the start.
as if you've bathed in the ice water.

I guess maybe we both need space,
but that space could be filled if it is left alone too long.

I don't want to sound like I've lost all hope,
but I believe the beautiful sunset has just about come to an end