Kiss hard until the dial tone surrenders

This is no drunk dial. No conman
with his tricks and mirrors. It's me,
really. After the break up I've been
very unhappy.

But tonight is different. I'm suited
nicely, clean-shaven, and snuggled
squarely inside a window seat with
gorgeous black shoes.

The window panes are so large
I had to remind myself the ego
cannot be unabasheded even
if framed.

I'm naked except for my good suit.
My hair is slicked back. I smile sincerely,
women approach me first.

They run their fingers up my center,
pause to admire my handsome buttons.
They feast to my neck and stop.

If they devour me there their lips
would frost.

Instead they kiss up a winter storm
in the space between my eyelids.

My waitress seems uneasy by this.
So I tell the waitress I need my salt
but she only brings me more sugar.

Y, since you left fortune finds me
like a bouquet of flowers cast off
into the crooked arms of my
coldest winter.