Unexpected Love

Like running up to someone, fog thick and smeary, screaming,
"my life is ending!" and they reply in much the same intonation,
"So is Mine!" "What do we do?" and, of course, being
foibled and spun of mortality, the answer is to fuck.
Fierce and full of belly grumbles from
sustenance slipped by missed in sweated kisses
or held all sweetly in tingling finger tips.

 Then, when the fog clears and time swells golden
in sated sorrows and salted letting go,
in coffee and cigarettes offered in acceptance, then,
at who knows what time, you are hating yourself for soliloquising
in the living room as shaking arms encircle
the stone of sobs you have somehow swallowed.

But a new moment grows, under the quiet stars
and in the candlelight, by words and gestures
that alight with gentle knowing,
all fruitfall hope growing
amidst the adverse aridity.
As weeds growing through cracks in concrete.

"There was nothing." One would say.
"There was never nothing." the other would reply,
both owing of beauty and giving,
letting roots run deep with minds
on the now and an eye on the future.