I Wonder What You Would Do If You Were Told You Are Dying
If I Were Dying...
for R
If I knew one month from now my eyes would close forever, I know what I would do.
Sunday mornings would be sitting crosslegged with you on the blue and white duvet we bought in Canada the summer after we met. Bagel crumbs (mine onion, yours everything, both butter no cream cheese) scattered over the newspaper and gritty under my bare legs.
Leaning together over the crossword, stopping to admire the robin on the window sill, a kiss as one of us leaves the room for coffee.
Me in your dark blue pajama shirt, you wearing only your male beauty, and my eyes straying to my favorite features often. Matching mugs from the potter in Talyce brimming with a rich bold fragrant blend we both love and pay too much for.
As I look around this bed, around this house, around this life I see there is no me without you. Since the day I put my hand in yours, every song, every pizza, every wish bears our joined marks. Our running shoes slouch against each other in the closet, our scarves entwine on the coat tree behind the door.
You are the archives of me and I of you. You know why I go quiet when we pass that empty lot on 5th Street and I know why your hand drops gently to my thigh and just rests there.
You saw me when I chased my sunhat across the park, racing the wind, and the memory on your face reminds me of how we caught the hat and then caught each other's eyes and turned and kicked for home, closing the door just in time before our clothes fell off.
What I am telling you, love, is if I were dying, I would do as I have been doing. I would die as I have lived, with you spooned up behind me as we sleep, your face across the table as we dine, your hands all over my skin as we love.
for R
If I knew one month from now my eyes would close forever, I know what I would do.
Sunday mornings would be sitting crosslegged with you on the blue and white duvet we bought in Canada the summer after we met. Bagel crumbs (mine onion, yours everything, both butter no cream cheese) scattered over the newspaper and gritty under my bare legs.
Leaning together over the crossword, stopping to admire the robin on the window sill, a kiss as one of us leaves the room for coffee.
Me in your dark blue pajama shirt, you wearing only your male beauty, and my eyes straying to my favorite features often. Matching mugs from the potter in Talyce brimming with a rich bold fragrant blend we both love and pay too much for.
As I look around this bed, around this house, around this life I see there is no me without you. Since the day I put my hand in yours, every song, every pizza, every wish bears our joined marks. Our running shoes slouch against each other in the closet, our scarves entwine on the coat tree behind the door.
You are the archives of me and I of you. You know why I go quiet when we pass that empty lot on 5th Street and I know why your hand drops gently to my thigh and just rests there.
You saw me when I chased my sunhat across the park, racing the wind, and the memory on your face reminds me of how we caught the hat and then caught each other's eyes and turned and kicked for home, closing the door just in time before our clothes fell off.
What I am telling you, love, is if I were dying, I would do as I have been doing. I would die as I have lived, with you spooned up behind me as we sleep, your face across the table as we dine, your hands all over my skin as we love.
