CALL ME BELOVED

thirty-nine years. the first half through (if we’re lucky)
tongue-bloodied because we’re so eager to bite, now –
throw me the heat, I’ll swing. one reckless haymaker
after another. I’ll leave myself absolutely wrecked and
breathless, staring down sunsets, soaking in last licks
of twilight – cool, slow sighs before temperature soars
and heat chokes us out, but not now. tonight we’re all
crushed by gratitude, grief drowned in fat, happy tears –
tomorrow we get to do it again. we get to do it again.