I Remember

remember the night I drove for hours,

just to share the last smoke of day

with you as the sun rose,

and you let me read the diary

you kept when you were little,

and we both thought,

all the words were about us,

and I told you where to find

the empty spaces I had covered

with heart-grafts and heat,

then you asked if I had extra,

so I covered you too,

and it hurt,

and scared us to feel whole,

knowing how easy it would be

for the other, to make everything

covered become permanently exposed,

and it would never be like this again,

so I traced the lines in your palm

until I knew that my touch

was normal enough to never

make you flinch.