Someone once asked me
If I was afraid of dying.
I said yes.
What else is there to be afraid of
Besides that?
Now, looking at you
Your breath against my neck
Your eyes searching my face
Your smell soaking into my sheets
I realize I answered like a child.
If I am asked that question again
I think I will answer
that I am afraid of one thing
That one day
Your eyes will close
Your head will turn
and I will lose you
To someone
Who isn't me.

I remember us in bed
the most.
I think about the heat
the burn
the bites and bruises.
I think about the loss of breath
The heaving chests
The white bright lights
and rest.
But more than the fire
I think about the silence
and the way you would put your ear to my chest
and count my heartbeats.
I remember your breath on my neck
your arm around my waist
and all the nothing that was said
and cut me with its loveliness.
I remember us in bed
and try to forget the fire.

I stand above my bed
And examine the damage.
Blankets this way and that
Pillows all over
Sheets tangled up around themselves.
Proof of something that
Only hours ago
Left this place empty.
I take in the rubble
And breathe deeply.
I lower myself down to those
Tangled sheets
And backwards bedspreads
And fill my lungs with you.
I pull them up around me
And close my eyes
And wish for this place to be
The same kind of battleground
Again tomorrow.