First I’ll change his eyes
from brown to green

because I’d rather be reminded
of the algae in the pond

than the bourbon on his tongue.
I’ll say pond when I mean lake

because I prefer the intimacy
of lily pads.  I can say things like

he offered love like it was lemonade,
fresh-squeezed and innocent,

because then the idea won’t seem so foreign.
And then it won’t seem so dishonest

when dragonflies become hummingbirds
because I envy their tunneling

nature.  I can pretend that they
drilled a hole in the sky

where we can live out
the lives I’ve forged for us

through poetry, where
we are together every time.