The year I was supposed to die, I don't die.
I see my body before her eyes
Our reticent voice of intimacy
When it was awkward and lovely between us
As my attempt to slow down
The passion that is slowly brewing between us
Like smothered coffee in a trash bag
I don't care what happens
I just want to die right away
Then I remember
I can't
My mother has at least ten years to live
And suicide must be a lover I must learn to discard at any moment’s notice
I wonder what my lover thinks of me
The way I treat her like suicide, stringing her along
I want to have you, but not yet
Tomorrow my mother is eating kale
And is very healthy & doesn't smoke or drink & does yoga and has the strength & energy and
vitality of a 20 year old boy
