Don't Marry Me Haiku

When we drove through my hometown for the first time, I asked her, "What do you see?"

And she stared at the setting Ohio sun, at the too cold outside with not enough snow, at the streets I called home.

You are a student of a language, warping butter-like words on your tongue. 

She died when I was twelve

and I still miss her house

with a VHS copy of Cinderella too precious to shelve

She died when I was twelve

and I know it's best not to dwell