Somewhere, ages ago now
I was setting sail on bones and ash,
catching the wind with an old t-shirt,
watching you and everything I knew
turn doll-size in the distance.
Miles had spread at a viral rate
by the time I went overboard and you
were already there to buoy me back to shore,
to refill my chest with all the reasons there were to stay
and when I opened my eyes all I noticed was the
brilliant orange of the sun as it left us.
So I’ve been using all your edges to keep me upright
but you’ve never seemed to mind (you’re too busy
seeing me in some post-apocalyptic calm, something
I cannot), you who chooses over and over to
stand out in the rain with me.
It’s all so surreal now, way back behind us,
and it feels like someone else’s temporary sorrow
when we are here, cradling the shiny newness of a
living, breathing thing that has your mouth, my chin, your nose.
It is almost impossible to think how simple
a decision it was, to look into your eyes, nod, press my mouth,
my body to yours and suddenly we were changed.
I think I’ll spend forever thanking you.