My days are now filled with lists—
Plans & packing/ preparations, predictions
For the next step—that moment on the horizon
(only a speck this morning, though it will grow by noon)
Where this becomes past and the future, present.
Already bridges are burned
(items 28 & 67 on my list respectively)
And my life packed away—jammed in boxes—
That are tearing, bursting with me
and the stuff that gives my life shape
Held in by duct tape—ready to be moved,
Reassembled into a life elsewhere, beyond.
But as I lie here this last night,
Eyes closing out of turn as my hand writes on
—Scrawling this down in the dark—
Your hand moves over my stomach, a fleeting touch
Giving me form where before there was none
And your body slides up, aligning with my own—
Shaping me solid once more.
Your breath, hot and warm on my neck
Pulls my thoughts back like the tide
To the here and now—pushing me
To suppress my fear and, instead, measure this departure
In shared coffee cups and harmonies intertwined
Possibilities ahead and love here found—
And though tomorrow will come
—with or without lists & regrets—
Tonight, I am yours in the space between breaths
And this swell of fresh hope for a future unlikely.
