There’s this distant
Sound of sawing
Saws and then
You move and
I’m reminded of
You right here
In my bed
Next to me
There’s this distant
Sound of sawing
Saws and then
You move and
I’m reminded of
You right here
In my bed
Next to me
And we wrote
Poetry just he
And I for
The first time
In years we
Shared ideas hopes
Dreams and touch
And he wanted
To watch me
Write him poetry
And so he
Arrived onions and
Kidney beans in
Hand he said
Make me chili
And so I
Did and we
Started the cooking
And eventually dined
And shared stories
Triumphs and disappointment
Then there between
Sour cream and
Chives we realized
That one thing
We both loved
And so we
Met and came
Together again not
Like before but
New exposed and
Naked no promises
Simply hope that
Each of us
Will be happy
That’s our blessing
To each other
It’s odd this
This idea of
Rising from nothing
When things begin
It’s a firestorm
Ignited and fueled
By desire yearning
Fanned by winds
Of the newness
Of you your
Taste and touch
But when it’s
Over and we
Both lie in
The dusty ash
Of the other
When our landscapes
Lay barren exposed
And decimated maybe
Just maybe something
New sprouts a
Comfort knowing that
We’ve survived the
Wars of love
To be friends
Maybe something new
Quieter and better
Because we’ve learned
Who we are
For the other
Rather than ourselves