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,

ohgodohfuckwhythehellwasIgiventhisblessinganditwastorn,

and you go to Heaven,

and take my words too.