Will You Sleep Downstairs tonight?

Its always winter
somewhere, but it comes too late
to you.
In your chair
you've been sitting there
drawing up your letters
like a blanket of ink
will it wash away
all the pain
that I remember?
Will it wash away
the stains on my heart?
Or will they show up
as the beauty in my art?
or will it be just so tragic
it comes as a surprise
to anyone.
You will keep them at a distance
far enough away
to keep them all from
sticking holes in your heart.