The most dangerous thing is indifference.
I know this, I know that specific way you look at me
and I know that one does not exist
without the other.
But where does the fading begin -
gradually, around the edges or from the center outward?
Should I draw up battle plans to protect our hearts
from the onslaught of reality on our weary bones?
Where should I station the moats and the canons
to fend off the slow burn out of our love?
We can smoke our clove cigarettes on the fire escape
and stare up at the darkening malachite sky
and wonder about all the places we won’t ever go
and all the ways we would change if we could.
Somewhere a few streets down someone would have lit
a fire, their children roasting marshmallows and laughing -
but all that will reach us is the smoke as it mingles with ours,
my hand batting it all away for a better view
of the night sky behind your silhouette, watching
for the shooting stars I only ever see when you’re around.