waxing gibbous.

Sometimes I wonder what it even means to be here

I step outside and know unequivocally

sometimes when you’re talking I remember I’m strong

strong enough to hold the weight of you learning who I really am

sometimes I think we might kiss

but I’m afraid that would put me on an escalator

I guess kissing and escalators aren’t overly related

sometimes I think you’re changing

and with familiar disappointment I realize you haven’t

you aren’t but I am, constantly, every hour,

dreaming of being with her, quiet, together, blissful- all too aware of what it took to find peace, the same peace we shared as children

sitting in truck beds and elevators and on folding tables,

all the places we made a home for our love

the one who first wrote me poetry

and embraces me in every season and who always so tenderly finds me