Each Other

We measured our comfort by
distance from each other,

rolling across each other
like shaken marbles.

We believed in each other as one
fears the afraid.
Part of the cycle
we clicked like magnets.

We were each other’s only friend.
What lives in memory
doesn’t quite end,

but its absence is an assassin
picking off the glass in my hand
from an obvious blind:
drink pops and I’m wet.

I was only walking back
to the TV set
to forget.

We roamed these rooms
like each other’s pets,
following the smell of food
and the play of light
between each other’s moods.

We raised a brood of kids
with each other’s eyes
is what we did.

And rubbed each other’s backs flat.

We made it rain
each other’s time
on each other’s bare
and bucking behinds.

We monopolized
each other’s primes.

Drank each other’s fucking wine.
Spared each other
infinite lines.

Snored, grew bored,
entwined.

Traveled time
in each other’s faces.
Watched each other’s children
take each other’s places.

It was always different.
We were sometimes the same,
the rest sharing plans.

Indelible to each other’s
fading hands.

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