In the month of bones I wear red galoshes for black-market Theraflu; we heard they took it off the market because junkies use it to break bad. On your side of town, you gather up single-serve soup cups and treat us both to the tissues with lotion in them. You wear your leather jacket over plaid pajama pants. There’s melted snow on your halo curls & fever flush in your pale cheeks.
I start the kettle. You work the microwave. We make room for two under one old blanket; your radiance wards off my chills. We sniffle between kisses, swill honey poison, take bets on who Jerry Orbach & Sam Watterson will convict. You win; I let you slide your damp hand up under my tee-shirt. I haven’t worn a bra in days.
When the cold meds and Law and Order stop working, we switch to red wine & The Shield. You are Vic Mackey & I am Shane Vendrell. I will love you, follow you, kill for you. You don’t even have to ask.
Is it season five already? Your cell phone rings. You answer to a giddy girl whose loud voice I have never heard before. You put on your jacket, but you’ll stop at home to change before she opens her legs to heal you. At the door, you become Lem. I am still Shane.