I should be studying the Koppen Climate, so of course I am not. Instead I am studying the uneven ends of my fingernails and feel vaguely pleased that for a moment I thought the brush of fabric against my leg was my cat. The ghost-rub of her side.

A little misplaced, now, in wanting...to change things, sure they will change in a couple weeks of my resolve. If I do this, I will earn your second-glance. If I do this I will become the warm aloof that is The accessory. Where is my brand name beret and knit, Dulce fingerless gloves, and Coach printed Plato dangled by the fashionably Keroauc-esque scribbles? Be, attract, possess, detach, adhere, remove, abstain, allure. None of these words I can use in poetry. They lack a certain flare, a certain haunting quality. I want to haunt you. For both our sakes? For the sake of something else? Pour the sake into the cups I placed by the table. For the longest time I thought you liked this way. How do we ever explain our mistakes?