—FORGET WHAT I SAID, IT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT

   

bloom

this morning

i wake to the

elasticity of memory

and for the first time

in a long time

i don’t want to die

or kill myself

because in my mind

there’s the

weight and

exquisite

warmth of you

pressed like pages

against my skin

every pore

startled

resuscitated

and regenerated

while a bodacious sun

stripes our bodies

like bobcats

or exhausted

zebras

sheets cast aside in

knots and tangles

the night

time-stamped

and sealed

in a lobe

me sitting up

just to watch

you yawn and wake

paper in my hand

ready to read

you one more

poem

about the muddy

messy rain

how some people

fall in love

in it

even when

the sky looks

terminally smudged

with a crease of

glinting light

that might

be nothing

or could be

the foot

of a rainbow

just beginning

to bloom