ON WHY WE SHOULD MAKE A SUICIDE PACT

the candle’s flame throbs against the shadows on the wall; dancing, dancing.
Mary Oliver’s voice from the speakers is clear and bright as a morning rain
stuffed with shrimp and chips and salsa I sit on the couch. replete
I am a long way from your warmth cradled in the near dark.
“yes I like her a lot that last was brilliant”
I am here in the now but really back with you putting together a cake for Chloe
happy birthday happy birthday
lying naked skin on skin
“do you hear the wind”
what does it all mean
we have come so far together
one day one of us will have to go on alone
I don’t want it to be me
but I don’t want it to be you