Forever is exhausting.
Andrew is never gone…
Just like we are never over
Not that we are the same, and yet
We are something like forever.
Alive. Or dead. Does it even matter?
What we do, even when in shadows.
Is anyone really, ever, listening?
I touch your chin as shrine
Jesus’ toe, in my mouth… so so cleansing
Washing, washing it clean.
I eat sin; I lick you clean. Baby, please—
My tongue can only do
So many things.
Hence, look at me, on my knees,
Saying, I know. I loved him too.
Your name is James.
His name was Andrew.
Photo by Kristina Tripkovic on Unsplash
Elisabeth Horan
Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She writes to survive and survives to write - We are all battling something. Let's support each other. Elisabeth enjoys riding horses and caring for her cats, chickens, goats and children (not necessarily in that order). She teaches at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire.
