January

A flattened, fluffed mass, its mangled, frozen wing juts.
The salt-stained asphalt, dimming skies and LED adorned branches.
Your shoes in the entryway, grilled fish and tomatoes, your fragrance of damp hair.

If I said what you wanted to hear, was I only who you wanted me to be.
Our character a product of overconsideration and ulterior motivations.
Yet able to draw promises as constellations. 

Tarred as we are,
"I wish I could be with you forever,"
intentions glittering.