Sometimes the past bubbles up
and boils over and splashes us with heat

You walk our pups
I make our food
You go to work
I prepare our brood

It’s not possible this is the first time
that you’ve held my heart 

I’ve heard for eons that eyes
are windows to the soul
but I’ve never experienced someone

It’s all spent getting back to you
And I wonder if it’s been that way

You tell me forehead kisses are for the soul
so I keep my lips to your skin as your tears fall

At the edge of my universe, there is a call bell
vintage, with gold vermeil, the kind that sits on service counters waiting for a finger to tap its cue

I did stop dreaming about you
but you never quit crossing my mind
in flashes that make my breath catch

I can remember that there was a baby 
who wouldn’t let me leave without 
kissing her on the lips,

Five years on, what I miss most about us


is my own feeling that something was meant to be
my own conviction that something couldn’t be broken

Caring feels like I’m the driver and you’re in the passenger seat
and there’s a Bad Thing coming so I put my arm out across you

Years ago, when I couldn’t sleep, I would imagine myself
curled against a broad chest, being rocked in the arms 
of a giant. My body was tiny in his arms, safe and light,

In a parallel time, 

there’s a house where we spend our days 

I was asked recently to think
about when I feel most me

I found another
an alien just like me
hiding in plain sight

He’s clearly a weekend dad
one who has brought his boys to the pool
mostly to kill time

The plant next to the path
Grows tall and green and luscious 
Standing there in all its liveness

When I turn out the light
in the space between the switch
and my head resting on the pillow

At 6:57 this morning, the words ran out. They stopped. 

Protested. Said they had done more than their share of work.

to life than the taste of coffee
on his lips as they pull me from sleep