The Second Coming

I imagine the gentle slope of your shoulders
the emaciation of your concave stomach
your grey-green stained suit of skin.
Dreams of holding you freeze frame.
Flash to your parents laughing in the sun.
Another memory in my catalog of images
surreal, erotic, dark, or beautiful.

15 years ago, I met a man
who burned holes in his limbs.
He bathed in shattered glass
and experimented with death.
He was bored, so he drank
and hoped to find forgiveness
for himself. For all of us.

But absolution wasn’t in the bottle
or in anything or anyone else.
It is here and now
and ours to choose.
I choose you.
I choose me.

I choose liberation from easy answers.
Fucked up, dirty, bloody, awful mistakes.
Loving, frightened, whole-hearted coupling.
Times of silent, absurd comfort.
Arguing over stupid shit
we could have left alone…

But it wasn’t and we aren’t.
We choose.
We choose to be with one another
whether an inch away or 1500 miles.
In your absence, I spare the rod
and spoil the child in myself
by loving you
loving myself
forgiving
myself.

Setting us free