The calendar reminds me I have not kissed you
in too many days
I am dissolving I am sugar in warm tea
or the herbal flecks drowning in a floral mug

dying in a pretty place.
Even when it doesn’t rain, you are
shelter

and I am a rack for you to rest your sweater
when it is too warm to wear it

or when you want to press our stomachs
together and
pretend I am carrying your baby inside mine for
a laugh, for some kind of wish.

I want you to touch me like less of a child
recognize I am fading
into an unkempt lawn where insects

will find me before you know I am gone.
I love bugs for letting me wilt into the scenery –
I love you for not
and will remember the last second we touched.