1.
every once in a while you get the urge and you stick your hand down your throat and make sure you don’t throw up in the middle of it and try as hard as you can to get a piece of it but you never do it’s always there that gnawing that there could have been more there could have been something else, some one else, you could have been someone else and how much longer can you yearn for it and how much longer can you write it out, ride it out and it all comes down to having said this many times too often and you wish it was as dull as that but there’s an absence there where there should be something sturdy and strong like the hole a tooth makes when it gone missing.
2.
And it doesn’t come to me as easily anymore the eyes are starting to puff, dull over, and I have my hand on her belly almost every other night, whenever I can and I don’t really know what to make of it, this baby she is making, this baby that was somehow made and will be made throughout my life, but I put my hand there whenever I remember to because that’s my skin in there too, and something of me is growing inside of you while I’m out here dying and the cycle continues, here it is lurching forth bursting at her seams. Look at it, belly abounding.
3.
I love her more than I ever have and I could have sworn that I loved her then as I do now and it all appeared to me then as she crossed the room and here we are now eight years later after a lifetime as children, with a child growing between us between the cover throughout the night, she walking belly first, baby first and ain’t that something all this out one little drop that found all the right angles and slopes to get through that little crack.
4.
Of course she wouldn’t appreciate that one at all.
5.
My father turns to my mother and in front of my wife asks about where his niece’s invitation for the surprise baby shower was.
6.
It’s amazing how increasingly surreal life is working between daylight and moon light, names of days disappear, the week flows and stutters then >snap< just like that, it's gone. Days off filled with silence and loneliness and the nights are prisons, especially now without the smoking, and I run at the gym and still cannot catch my breath, but the days bleed and the nights wear on to a dawn that is relentless and unforgiving. 7. And I used to dance in crowds to feel alive and I drove against the sun, against time.