we were driving a cruise ship down I-87 as
the typhoon hit us over the head, double take, followed by your screaming
and the shutters of your sister's iPhone blinking strobe lights.
your hands were bones, giving me a gift
but it wasn't my birthday, and you weren't my Secret Snowflake;
if snow fell, it fell on your side of the world, not mine.
in dreams we were able to hold onto ourselves—
in real life we lost our bones and organs whenever we saw each other
like a shy, lonely foster child jumping from one broken home to the next.
in dreams we were able to love freely, and we did it so well
we could have owned the word "love" and held it in our pockets.
if you had asked me why I felt like I was losing myself, I would have
given you something close to an answer.
you always deserved the truth, but even in my dreams
I couldn't help but hesitate.
