January (My Violent Heart)

The temperature dropped the day I left;
hours later I smelled cinnamon and saffron,
my nose, assaulted by warm air

(but not in a way I felt violated)

The sheets tried to hard to achieve a
balance between home and away,
and gave me large, angry hives.

(“A vacation,” he said, “would restore your health)

I took the news hard, my heart
stamped and packed down hard,
sand on a beach, snow underfoot

(the waves violated an all-inclusive order)

There’s nothing worse than a tourist
who doesn’t want to tour the ruins
of a most important relationship.

(I still avoid salt water)

I saw you, you who had been mine,
with your hand wrapped in hers,
with bow-like accuracy

(Violence against self excluded from the air fare)

Raced half-way around the world
to realise that the weather
did not improve the mood.

(Sunshine to sun visor to sunscreen)

Damn you and those intertwining
fingers that will never do
what I will forever want them to.