Mismatched Gloves

Is it my fault
that your mind wanders?
Or is it the snow
that brings out the animal in you?
Either way I plead the fifth
while you won't face me.
I sit alone
in a restless part of the city.
Digging in my heels
for the long and short of us.
Nobody sees
my mismatched gloves when it is snowing.
I could care less
about their snap judgements anyhow.
Between the lines
we live in our secrecies.
Hoping to see
everything but each other's faces.
I am restlessly sorting the garbage
from the lust filled memories.
You still stand out
in that place only I care to look.