Put your hands all over him; touch him like an angel
cradling a guilty child, kiss his chin lightly, caress his spine
to stop the cracks from showing- someone needs to know,
I will be gone and it’s not as natural as it appears. Someone needs
to know how to carry him- for when I don’t
exist. In case he lets somebody love him again.
Break down warm confessions,
like bread in milk and honey,
slowly spell out words like YOU, WHO I LOVE, YOU-
Push each letter down his throat so he understands,
so he believes. Send him postcards
and detail every thought you’ve had of him that day,
if not he’ll lose his memory.
That space in between two bodies is not
severance, it is a crescendo of every time you’ve kissed,
of each night you’ve danced around the kitchen,
Freddie singing on the counter,
of all the touches you’ve shared, of everything that lingers.
Hold him tenderly, suck in all the tragedy
and spit it somewhere else- hold him like
you both aren’t dying,
like you both aren’t petrified of the mob outside your door.
Tell him it’s not even there.