Yet again here we are, words which met love on a page.
I turn to you and grin, whisper words which only you hear,
and your groan, swatting me away. “Not another,” you grumble,
and with your eyes I see it. Potential. Pain. Pleasure, the
vulnerability that is us, the fragile link of communion, which
ended in an exclamation.
When you were gone,
and you go to Heaven,
and take my words too.