temp

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.

waiting

i look for you everywhere:
online, on the metro, at the corner store,
outside my house, where i saw you last.

it is midnight and i still look. i check outside the window,
beyond the door, on my phone–i don’t see you. i
keep looking not knowing if you want to be found.

i surrender to the ease of my bed sheets.
the smell of you lingers
on an old pillow and
i find you