My dear, I am more than happy to tell you that
I saw an April snow last April
and an August snow guess when.
And tonight, I shiver as the snow pummels
the rooftop. I already miss our star-gazing
Under the starry, apathetic night.
Honestly, I love the star-gazing more than the snowfall.
And honestly, it never really snowed.
And I never saw not one.

Does it matter to you that I opened this poem with a lie?
Well, just last year while the snow which wasn’t there
blurred the sight of you leaving,
you opened the year with a lie.
And you never came back
despite your promise
of bringing home for me
a plastic bottle
filled with
melted
snow.