I know you are tired,
And you are tired-looking.
You look like how I feel
When I get up
And have to face another day
Knowing I have to do it without you.
Remembering you is like a faint old taste in my mouth
That never goes away
Until I successfully identify it,
And then it vanishes into an imagination.
And wearing you again
Is like sleeping in a familiar
And welcome bed.
My body fits you perfectly.
And why not?
I made you to fit me
In those formative, early years,
When people mocked the sight of us together.
And so do they still.
But I will not forsake you,
Because you are a sign
Of the salvation I found in you,
And of the many who went before us,
Each with his own coat,
Each with his own
Of crumpled paper bills
And dreams to spend them on
And each with his own disillusion to achieve.