Winter cleanse

I have already packed my regrets

They were too bulky for this Muscovite hotel room

My shame still lies on the bed next to you

So I must turn away and avoid your icy blue eyes—that burn holes in my skin

I glance outside and notice the first snow of the season

Every flake a drop of bleach to my spirit , a dose of repentance

Now what we’ve done here all weekend long no longer feels so wrong

The garden across the street disappears under a duvet of white

So does my mortification and my frostbitten guilt

My luggage light, I’ll fly back to London with memories of you and a conscience expunged