Comes to This

Please.
I don't expect you to understand
or even recognize the signs before you,
the burst of blue trailing across the wall
after the fight,
white berries buried in the snow
packed upon the drive,
crushed beneath the screech
of the wheels,
all while the clouds of this night
peal away slowly as the dawn breaks.
Still, I'm not going to tell you.
You can guess, run your knuckles
through my hair and pull,
press your lips to mine
and beg me to tell you
when we come up for air.
I hope it never comes to this though.