we are hanging by a thread.
that’s what this feels like–
so fragile, like the first time you hold a newborn.
mesmerized by the baby’s trusting eyes,
the thin pink gums without teeth,
the milky smell. there is promise of
companionship, milestones–a future.
but we forget that these moments are fleeting.
we want to pause and savor them in photos,
letters, and little gifts. we are ephemeral,
but these things are the closest thing we have
to immorality. to keeping innocent promises.
we look back and
remember the frailness of it all.
i like your face even better up close–
i told you that.
i feel weight of your eyes, the
heaviness of dulce de leche,
pour over mine;
the rest becomes a blur.
the melting of our energies
bleeds into a new aura: una
erupción de luz