I wonder what we will have
to show for our love
when we die

(Will we even die together?)

a handful of daisies
that are weeds to some
but never to us

we delighted in turning them
into chains, into planting them
amidst my blonde curls

(They will turn grey soon...)

our love letters
kept in a shoebox
tied tight shut
with a red ribbon

(They are for no one else’s eyes.)

maybe all we will have
is that shaking last kiss
as you place the gun on my temple
and pull

and then turn it on
yourself

lying crumpled together
in old age and misery
debt and alcohol
breathes

but together, my love
absolutely, painfully

together