oh, fuck.

i just got the heaters out for the first
time this year.
questions in a world of blue by julie cruz.
crying into my hands into my blanket,
with ritz in my lap, wondering where
her daddy is.
telling her i love her, and it being
the only kind of love i feel capable to
express.
waiting.
"the only thing is time"
it is the only thing. moments, even.
how many moments before you (r.bunny) and i
can die like we said death would be,
on the couch, side by side
listening to the same song and not being
sad, but being sad together. or anything else.
it really wouldn't matter.
love or attachment, it doesn't matter
what anyone thinks it is, or what we are,
or what all of the pain we went through,
means. what this means is that i'll
still be field-grazing, sky-staring,
slip-wearing vole...now just different,
and a deeper depth that i'll ever be
able to show. to you. (r.bunny)
so let's be alone, apart,
and you can write your letters
and i can have my anger and my death and
perhaps rebirth.
as what? into what?
not sure. we'll see.