you offer refuge
cupped in the palm of your hand
like water it is fleeting,
absorbed into your skin before I can drink,
but condensation follows
on your eyelids, on your lips.
I drink freely, I am
revived.
you should conserve, I tell you,
one day there may be a
drought

(then we'll go thirsty together,
you say.)

is that how you perceive romance?
crawling to each other over burning sand in attempt to
die within finger reach?
I do not intend to die for this love.
Dying is simple; I will live because it requires
effort.

you offer laughter
dangled from the hinges of your smile
like sunlight it is recognized
most keenly when the shadows cover my eyes,
but luminescence follows
from your throat, from your voice.
I open my eyes, I hold hands
to the warmth.
You should save the matches, I say,
one day there may be an
eclipse.

(then we'll learn how to see in the dark,
you say)

is that how you perceive trust?
groping across each other's faces in attempt to
remember how we used to look.
I do not intend to go blind for you.
Blindness is an excuse; I want to say I
saw it coming.

you offer silence
wrapped around your shoulder blades
like velvet it is thick,
able to smother or warm in equal strength,
but security follows
in your fingers, in your hands.
I am cocooned, I share the
blanket.
You should keep it to yourself, I tell you,
one day there may be a
frost.

(then we'll stay close, you say to me,
and wait for the thaw.)

is that how you perceive hope?
crystallizing together, bones coated with ice from attempt
to push heat into the other?
I do not intende to freeze solid.
Freezing is passive; I will remain fluid because I
refuse to stop moving.

In the end,
it is the insignificant things that keep us
alive.