after Ellen Bryant Voigt
How we survived: We clutched hands
and refused to let go. We laughed every day.
Read only the books we actually liked.
Added two spoonfuls of sugar to every cup of coffee,
spent our paychecks impulsively, bubble-bathed daily.
Ran our fingertips down each other’s spines at night,
breaths shuddering, thighs scissoring
beneath the sheets and quilt. Since we had no dog,
I fetched the newspaper, kissed your face,
and woke you up early every morning.
We both found someone who understood.
We more than just survived. We lived.
With you, I never even had to finish my sentences
because I knew you already knew.