Let's feel alive after the first cut;
the bloom on your wrist,
the white line on the mirror
separating where you have been,
and where you want to go.

You laid down in a blanket of snow
and rocked yourself like a river boat,
turning sleep in fits and waves,
to wake as a fraction of yourself.

Let's feel alive at the steep passing;
the sheer drop below,
the winter that thawed in your mind,
that first hit of love-
first taste of smoke and sugared ***.

I became vacant at the shop-fronts
and pinned myself to sleep
with **** and binaural beats;
the sea-wall to my mental health.

Let's feel alive in our life's passing;
the intersecting plot-lines,
the echoes of old suffering
that will dissipate as we make our way
to where we want to go.