A life of lips that fit snug on mine.
That whisper words over and over.
That scream with no sound.
A life of hands pulling me up the steep steps of Switchback.
That grab my neck in foreplay.
That wrap around my shoulders till the nightmares cease.
A life of animals.
Some caged waiting for meals of newborn mice.
Some free tempting coyotes and cars.
All held and worried over.
Always new ones.
No more cages.
A life of homes.
Real homes with art that adds edges to the walls.
With candles that add’s trim to nooks.
With photos so we can remember.
A life of trips.
Some for me.
Some for others.
For me, anyplace where food is local.
Where pasta is handmade.
Where fruit litters the streets.
For others, anyplace where I am welcomed with booked up commitments.
Where others feel left out.
Or it's not enough.
Or I'm missed before I even leave.
A life of of friends.
Women who take my luggage out of the trunk.
Empty my dishwasher without having eaten.
Bring me papayas because they know how I feel.
Men who tease me making me laugh.
Who lend a hand when the box looks too heavy.
Check on me when the storms come.
A life where solitude haunts my dreams.
Where being alone seduces my nights with promises of wine.
Where emptiness is a dirty word.
A life where things disappear.
Like Anthony and Varuna and Elizabeth and Yassy and Bob and Cephas and Brad and Vanessa and Grandpa and Nanny.
Where they went they’ll never return.
Where they went they haven't told me.
Where they went I'm going to go.
It will also be bittersweet, like life.