summerry

you are not winter

though you may feel cold now

as people look at you

raising their empty arms

to watch you melt

perhaps on their tongue

with your words

still warm

and still

but know you

are water

that could sink this city

after years of giving it life

showing to those

who learn how to swim

and wave a goodbye

that even the worst winter

that will end

before killing your spring

*

this is me

on my death bed

though i am standing

and laughing at work

and willing love to a woman later

wondering if she likes it

if she will last

if i am happy

living inside these bared walls

for a little while

and a little while longer

if i wasn’t born so premature

from a mother who left

too soon

and a father who stayed

too long

what were the names they

whispered to each other

behind closed doors

where no one would hear

what did they whisper about me

besides

dear

this is how

he is