…when my mouth is the sole thing you wear.
No, you are everything. But maybe that’s just me.
I don’t know if I’ll ever love again like I did when I was 20. But I have faith.
An open call: Tell me what you love.
That was the last time I ever tried scoring a game. But he kept bringing me.
The Susquehanna ran murky beneath our feet.
Love is absorbing brute distortion from three feet away, no stage, just sheets of plywood.
Love is living life in ever growing and encompassing circles of compassion.
…there, now I hear the cadence of your breath.
Our eyes locked. All around us the world turns over.
You were the first to say it back, like this: “I love you, too.”
“It’s a hell of a goddamned thing,” he said.
I could fall, forever forward
Into that hold-nothing-back, toothy grin.
My unsinkable Amazon warrior, strongest woman I know, laboring dusk to dawn. My son fast as lighting fetches whatever I need.
It’s ten years later, and we’ve been meeting each other halfway ever since.
I never could have known that loving my children would be more like stone cold ruthlessness.