First I’ll change his eyes
from brown to green
because I’d rather be reminded
of the algae in the pond
than the bourbon on his tongue.
I’ll say pond when I mean lake
because I prefer the intimacy
of lily pads. I can say things like
*he offered love like it was lemonade,
fresh-squeezed and innocent,*
because then the idea won’t seem so foreign.
And then it won’t seem so dishonest
when dragonflies become hummingbirds
because I envy their tunneling
nature. I can pretend that they
drilled a hole in the sky
where we can live out
the lives I’ve forged for us
through poetry, where
we are together every time.