You do what
you have to.
Even though part
of you dies a little

So many children
are products of science
So few are
born from love

I saw
my reflection
in grandfather's
   old whiskey glass

                            when I
                                was not
                                     looking.

He
Is so
*******
Full
Of life

sometimes
                                                       ­                         my
                                     ­ brain
                       doesn’t
                                                       ­     work

right
                                                ­                               and

                             my

                                              thoughts

     ­                                         scatter

               ­                                                    like
                               beads

                                     spilled
                               on
                                                              ­                 tile

floor

Love looks
Like the spaces
Between his fingers
Being filled
With mine