It wasn’t an incantation you screamed.
No flick of the wrist needed.
Still my lungs shudder under
your hand pulling my puppet strings.

Groping through light we don’t need,
as we’re already
Well lit
And we’re not after what we can see.
We need ointment for spurned lips
Delivered on hips turned
Haphazard
On your back
Gobbing you on my mouth like chapstick.

It’s a crawl-out-my-window
Kind of morning
4 am
In time for mourning
At your mother’s funeral.
I wish I’d known.

It’s a champagne-blurred,
Car headlight star’s burst
clothes on falling into the shower
Kind of New Year’s Eve
A bike ride home in the snow kind of night
A screaming with life kind of night.

It’s a day to watch mountains
In the south Puget Sound
Proudly cast shadows on the sunset,
Nesting our heads next
To each other’s in the quiet.
Not willing to realize yet
That this is the best it will get.