Between
we met on a Tuesday and left dying on Friday
the moments between a thousand days passed
a storm of caffeine flew over our lips, a hundred
conversations lingered unrestrained on our breath
our first touch snapped and sparkled and held
me paralyzed and broken
yet I was fixed and permanent
in those hours purpose and meaning meant
nothing and everything because in the twilight
or late morning being step
in step with you defined my being
when I lay between the firm and soft middle
of your thighs I exhaled
not knowing I held
my breath for days you smiled and bit
my lip my ear
and then blew and gasped
and held me tighter not letting go
life is drawn and stitched together
between our first and last moment
between the first touch and the last
it is Saturday and I wish I had not met you
who I am is stenciled between the time before
and the last moment after I knew you
between the gray of who I was
and the black and bitter of me now
I want to go back to living between you
between your crooked smile
between the coffee and bed sheets
between the time I said I love you
and you said me too
now there’s only
our last goodbye and me
nothing between
_________________________ Michael Ritoch plays at being a poet/writer. He finds joy in his wife, two daughters, cats, one is really fat and the other is neurotic, reading philosophy written by old dead guys, and his friends. He writes about leadership, pain, life, suffering, and whatever comes to mind.
If you enjoyed this poem maybe you’ll like these three poems as well.
If you want to read a great article by a great writer, read Paul Myers MBA post on mastering yourself.
