Helium

by Rudy Francisco

At this age, my body is a stranger that I keep meeting over and over again. The words “I am” are slowly transforming into “I used to be”

I hope I haven’t already driven past my greatest moments.

I hope there is something beautiful on the horizon that’s just as impatient as I am.

I’m still learning how to whisper, I’m loud in places where I should be quiet, I’m quiet in places where I should be loud,

I’m afraid if I let you see my skeletons, you’ll grind the bones into powder and get high on my fault lines.

want you to come to me like an afternoon, come to me slowly as if you were a broken sunset with a lazy sky on your shoulders.

I promise I will love you as if it’s the only thing I’ve ever done correctly.

I’m still learning how to let endearment sit until it’s ready to be consumed, hold it to my lips and sip slowly.

I’m not much of a love poet. But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love, my first poem would be about you.

I swear, I’m usually not a love poet, but if I were to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really want to write about love, my first poem would be about you.

getting out of bed has become a magic trick. I am probably the worst magician I know.

Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at.

I am learning that the difference between a garden and a graveyard is only what you choose to put in the ground.