Grateful and Greedy for the Seconds After

a poem about magic moments that follow

One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Twenty-Three.

It’s in the after, when hard happy breaths come in contented sucks and sighs and even the air sounds surprised to be a part of so much pleasure.

Warm electric rain down from your brain pitter-patter-ing down your bones until your whole body feels like home.

Too hot to touch every inch of skin must.

Sticky with life, love, and lust. The deathbed of distrust and the waking dream.

Not to say that during isn’t maybe the best thing we’ve got — but god gives us the seconds after to heat our hearts and warm our souls on the coals of a burning love.

Silently holding, quietly kissing, a gift, from above.