although tomorrow is
not promised,
we must live as if
we will see it.
otherwise when it comes
we are stranded-
halfway house,
numbered days.

static sparks fall from
the friction of clothing, blankets.
his mouth is sweet,
his belly soft and pale.
he is warm.

everytime i gaze at
him it feels like
the first time
lips softly parted
his kiss always
feels new

not prepared to die, nor to live
lay dormant in the earth
waiting for the storm to pass
the sun to re-emerge
a shedding, blooming tree branch
resilient, persistent, weathering
in a sad-beautiful way

how do you get through
the days that are
all tears and tissues?
—the days
of running mascara
and stuffy noses

it is a challenge to remember
there are good people among us.
but it is so much easier remembering
with a reminder right beside you
taking the form of a beautiful soul.