I want to love you into tomorrow
in a hundred languages
if only I had the time to learn them all

In the black sheet of night
on the cold concrete of a street soccer court
We'll be fenced in by the four meshes of green metal

Under a thousand stars we can't see
you're the warmth of hot water in a handle less mug
and the smile in your voice will be the last thing I hear before I fall asleep

I died

you came for my funeral
part of the modest crowd of solemn faces
and a little too close to the crying front row

I could see what you kept under the surface-
the words you couldn't say at my wake
sitting on the hard white plastic of the rental chairs
set too close for comfort with everyone you didn't love

I was thinking of the little plaque you gave me for my nineteenth
wishing I could put it into the hands you were wringing together
standing in the crowd
when you should take the place amongst my family

but no, stay; I am only waxed coldness
still under the dirt they are pushing on top
out of sight, out of mind
So stay where you'll have some warmth unlike anything I'd ever been able to give