a whip breaking
the silence of night;
stooping too low
against a frigid breeze
that even flesh upon flesh
couldn’t warm.
i will not
be remembered as such,
but echoes said
i would.
the same voice that
whispered love to my wrinkles,
and in the same breath
scolded me for
unlabeled erotic poems.
now, i will remember
you as such.

but a day ago / I am not me / a year ago / then a total stranger / to both you and I / it’s so beautiful / wrinkles that were once loved / are simply reflections now / just that / no longer a measurement of time / a measurement of longevity / i never knew desire / a want like this / a wish for self / me now for me / wrinkles measuring a life well lived / a reflection looking back / loving every mark / as simple as that / has filled me with me pleasure

in my mind
there is still warm sun

not from today
or this year
but from years ago
another lifetime

i can still remember
the cool tip of your nose
pressing against my cheek
followed by warm breath
and then a kiss

this is how it happened

illness has left me empty
all this has broken
and scarred
and worn so thin
all that i was

I am now
down to a single thread

but in lunacy
i’ll still hold
this one event

the cool tip of your nose
pressing against my cheek
followed by warm breath
and then a kiss

all of this
will drive me mad

i am ok with this
i have made peace
with losing everything

but not the memory
of warm sun
and a cold nose against
my cheek
not of forgetting warm breath
that spoke a language
without words
and of a kiss
that didn’t leave
with everything else


spring came. 
each year i wait for it,
i want it,
i am thirsty for it.
then it appears like a magic trick.
that’s how it is, right?
grey skies,
brown leaves,
dead grass.
then green –
a green – so green – so green
it’s fake.
that’s how it is, right?
we forget in the same way.
a memory with talons so deep –
so deep – so deep
it can’t be real,
then they’re gone.