serrated
was the knife
that split me in two,
right at the waist.
stripped me
of pleasures below the belt—
but cakes,
cigarettes,
chocolate,
and lips
stay sweet.

so still,
i’m grateful

to have my breath
tangled with yours,
warm and stale.
i never care,
but i notice
when the brush
turns coarse,
when decay
steals my taste
away.

but still,
i’m grateful

for my eyes,
to watch the dog
devour her meal—
devouring love.
and i’m grateful
to have once
tasted you.

yet now,
i see—not angels—
only god,
a dark silhouette
lit by the sun
spilling through the kitchen window.

your shadow,
a towering beauty
above my chair.
so much,
I stare too long,
until the sun burns holes
through my retinas.
the world dims—
gray, then black—
then only whispers.

but still,
i’m grateful

For the memory of color—
the yellows you wore,
like the flower curling in my ear,
the city baked in blue heat,
mosquitoes neon green
against the dusk—
and you,
a flicker in it all,
against the ballpark.

even if my eyes were gone,
plucked by your hands,
i’d forgive you.
i’d still have the music—
soft and sweet.
all the songs we shared,
and Satie,
that funeral march
i promised i’d die to.

now static drowns it all.
the volume spikes,
jumps off a cliff.
it’s a second verse
i never wanted,
but i’m not dead—
just deaf.

so still,
i’m grateful

for your voice notes,
for the ones i got to hear.
for the inside jokes,
the laughter itself.
even if my ears are gone,
i’m still grateful
for every vibration
that ripples through me now.
for anything
still moving.
i can still feel.

it’s then
our hands touch—
in scattered,
impermanent moments,
until i lose count of days.

but still,
i’m grateful

when your hand finds mine.
for i forget the worry
that haunts me
in every waking
moment between.

-

and like all things,
our moments together,
they pass.

but still,
i’m grateful

that you gifted me
the strength
of loneliness,
so i know,
with certainty,
it was not you
who slid the knife
over my throat.