your Norwegian needs lead you to bundle your chin with
woolen scarves, rough & tumbled.
they left me shivery, my timbered limbs
shaken—that's winter, for you.
i folded into hot drinks that suffocate you
and humidify me, me and my throat, me and my
words. Hot, that's why you hate it.
summer is your hibernation, your face will
be a shadowed basement window until
next November. you Northern boy.
is it because the heat waves melt you down
a dripping candle stub, all corrugated and cut?
you're a hydrophobic: you cower from the water.
you want Snow. you want Ice. you want Cold.
i guess i'm just a little tepid, neutral
territory, i straddle extremes. hopelessly i seek to
tug you into fall
where i've landed, granted leaf-chains.
but you can't come, you can't.
you're icicle-bound to below-zeroes, and
so there'll be no freeing you 'til spring.