I Imagine

How strange it is to be with someone,
to hold each other tightly,

to feel safe in his arms and
the ease of home when I see him,

and yet to know that we are not
each other’s forever in this form.

How strange it is to know at the beginning 
that there is an end,

not one imposed by nature,
but by us deciding it so.

It makes each moment we spend
getting closer subtly stained in gravity. 

It makes us hold on tighter, as we
attempt to imprint time on our lips

between our thighs, across our chests
for safekeeping, for when the road forks,

for when there is another,
for when we are just friends.

I wonder why we do this to ourselves,
why we make our future harder 

by taking this further, by not resisting,
by choosing to nurture this thing that can’t be.

We’re filling a void, he says,
and I suppose it’s true.

But sometimes when I hold him, sleeping
in the shadows of midnight,

as I push away thoughts of how many
more midnights together there will be,

I imagine we are more to each other 
than that. We are a necessary step

some version of forever love,
a friend outlined in silver,

a treasure to be cherished now and,
when the time comes, then.