eight months

i have to thank you, though
over the years,
you've fed on my despair,
whispered to me
threats of loss and
weakness. the honey-sweet
danger of your voice
lures me from faith
and sips with me
on my whiskey...
to forget
that life is destructible
and loss,
inevitable; that
i will wake one day
without one man's
likenesses and
another's kindness.
you will have scooped
them up, one
night, under closed
lids, dreaming
that things are alright.
and i should thank you,
still, for
you will have taught
me the value
of what i've had
but never touched.
it wont be the regret
of a loss of a
feeling, anymore,
it will be a regret
of a loss.
smile through the
sunsets of their lives,
a poem once said,
all the while
tearing into my head,
though i should still
thank you, and
learn the value
of vacancy.
these years have been
my happiest, with
you between my ears
and inside their blood, so
thank you, for
walking with me,
holding me.

k.