The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

If everything is going well
then something must be wrong

in the morning stops
my groggy yawning. Has me bright-eyed
and bushy tail, ‘stead of sluggishly as a snail.

Coffee in the afternoon has me floating
higher than a balloon. Gets my **** off the seat. Gets me
jumping to the beat.

Coffee in the evening increases
my breathing, prevents me from sleeping. So, I drink
water instead before I go to bed.

Beneath branches and leaves
we step through foliage
and the sun's great beams
hand in hand together we strode
while sweat accumulates
between our palms
I dare not let go.

Away so far on rolling waves
between ice and snow
but here the sun retreats
so I grasp your memoirs and letters
and pray to feel your warmth
with dreams of you
I dare not let go.

And while you're gasping in pain
fighting and screaming
while bringing life and love
into our vast world
you squeeze my fingers blue
yet it's nothing compared to your pain
I dare not let go.

And now you lie next to me
your skin shows glory in this light
as our child coos against your rising chest
fingers curling weak around mine
a face like yours
and eyes such as mine
I swear, not ever, will I let go.