If

I had only a month left to love,
I'd let you take me-hands, feet, memories.
We have but this time to discover
the planes of our backs,
the slits of our contentment,
every unbidden smile, the cross
look we throw in the morning, the
questions--words, the way your face
crumbles through my neck,
the little pains we dare not
tell each other. Let's not
make the mistake
of leaving off without having tried
how it feels to be weightless,
find bravery, match
your recklessness and dangle
on that smooth plane between days
that there is no other world,
no pain beyond what is left. nothing
as crucial as what we could still have, now.

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written a month ago when everything was a dream.