An orange Canadian city shines
outside beneath frostbitten sky.
It's almost January, I'm
locked in with you
in your parents' house and the basement lights
gleam bright off your brown, wine-soaked eyes
we're singing loud
all alone in here
on this frozen 3/4 night.
And outside
all the voices ring out
at the turn of an hour,
out of freezer-burned throats
while they clutch their coats closed.
In here we've
got each other and your speakers,
crowns of construction paper.
My drunk American smile shows,
we watch 2009 approach.
Your maple flavored laughter rose,
stars in our eyes.
Hear the tape tear, glue flow, scissor cuts
and our separate fibers folding up;
these paper hats
we made together
fit a flawless size.
A long farewell to sad goodbyes,
to Leaving Day and "cheers" to eyes
as big as mine on the River Walk
and firm footing on thick ice.
And outside
all the voices ring out
as the year greets an hour,
out of freezer-burned throats
while they kiss out in the cold.
In here we'll
kiss each other by the speakers,
crowns of construction paper.
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