The path is hard to hold,

but impossible to stop hop off.

 

The tears hit harder than bullets,

with the love pouring down gutters

and never hitting home, where it belongs.

 

Time brushes through my thick, graying hair,

a constant mystery – ducking and dodging definition –

and always running through our fingers just when we thought we had it.

 

Your kiss on my collarbone,

your hand on my naked chest,

and the way gravity pushes you into me,

is everything it means to love and be known.

The love we need

is not the love we see,

but the love we don’t eat.