make it from a glass of water with two ice cubes in it, or three, as long as it’s
  “a prime number less than 5”
  it’s less about the cold than feeling right
and find a dandelion, picked from our yard together
  blow a wish, and bring me one of the seeds, and
  tell me how it’s a fruit, so that makes it a vegetable

shake in the coffee shop mornings we kept together,
  playing cards and gossiping, thinking about holding hands
  while sharing my favorite breakfast (was it yours?)
bring me an espresso drip from anywhere; it would all be just as special

crush the little moments you’d bicker about
  which of you would play as our drummer,
  or when you’d chide me for my pronunciation of “petrichor” —
    i was right, by the way
  do you remember when i thought a cobweb was just dirt and static?
    i was okay never living that down.
  how were we so playful?
so find me the dust in our house, our powdered history
  
boil and distill the hack nights and projects and dreams we’d hatch together,
  never needing to finish, always burning to
  we were going to bring the world so much joy. do you think we did?
we had too much to do. so bring me a poker chip, some mac & cheese,
  vanilla ***** and peanut butter whiskey

it is selfish. but anyways,
give me the tincture of those rituals
  let me live a moment as each of you,
    and drink it in
  so that when i pass from that penultimate casket,
  we all die together

i love you, and i’m sorry