raison d'être. i like to think i was yours.
i like to think we knew each other in all of our past lives
and that we were always this way, always
over each other, you leave gifts for me to find
as i come tripping
this road after you
and i reassure you in dropped forehead kisses and
affection, absentminded like
fingers in hair
i like to think we wouldn't have needed this olive branch
or the way we love that we call "poetry"
to have found each other in this world of ours, you are