It's January, and I'm so cold

I sit in a parking lot, afraid
Losing this morning's hope
I know you weren’t ready to
Begin this new love affair

I read the poems you wrote me
Regretting the intemperate promise
I made to leave you alone
A promise I always meant to keep

I ask if I might sleep with you again
And openly admit my self-deception
You don’t believe a word I say
I tell you again that I love you

“I’ll make you leave,” you say
You’re angry because I disagreed
And you think I don't take you seriously
Because I’ve ignored your ardent advice

“Why did we start this, Mary?”
These things become so complex
It is all so confusing to me
Even the most important details

“Remember the starling,” you ask?
“That died on my front porch
The day we first made love?
That and sex are all I have to offer you.”