veil.

i've reserved these songs for you
to be shared on a january's eve,
the kind where we walk all night
and forget what time we started,
how many we've had,
the extra letters in wednesday,
and how to sing.
i've reserved these song for you,
milling between this record or
that one that always put us to sleep
and made me feel dirty to be sleeping
naked in a child's bed.
i've reserved these songs for you
because no one else fucking gets it
and they probably won't ever understand
the significance of fevers and mirrors,
and i don't want to explain it.
as much as they'll try to fill
the boots that cradle your
diabetic toes and thick-skinned heels,
they'll never quite match the veil of inadequacy
you so kindly draped before my eyes.