Like a black ribbon tied tightly around my neck,

your love was the softest chokehold I knew.

Each “do this” and “I told you so”

molded itself into a heart-shaped box.

I squeezed tears into diamonds to brighten

the shadowed corners of your well-furnished apartment,

tied tinsel around scratched wooden chair pegs

and listened every time you sighed into them, 

washed curtains with tide ocean blue so 

when breeze whispered through them we’d feel

 we’d owned an island to ourselves.

The last time I kissed you, it felt like the first,

which is why flashes of battling dust

bunnies seems sweeter than merlot we drank

on days off, your heart a crystal flute in my rough hands.

If only I hadn’t said goodbye then maybe

your demons would shrink to dirt used to grow

ferns that grayed and twisted into knots

at your bedside window. 

If your love weren’t a black ribbon 

tied tightly around my neck—

your lips would still flicker at the sight of mine

and my eyes would burn like sparklers when 

set alight by yours. And every footprint

towards you would be a journey 

towards warm sand caressing our salted crevices

the way the waves licked at our toes. 

And we’d live that way

until God himself lifted us away.