Now Awake

There were kneecaps I once was grateful for
not broken, but a floating between bones

And in floating, there was no beginning
no taking up of arms,
or feeling of running.

Before, there was no contact of foot
to ground, to ground us in both joy and difficulty.

He was a dream to me.
Not a truth in it, though an argument could be made
of the love left through silent exit.

And there, between the anguish of minutes past
and the yearning for minutes born, a visionless figure

We poured out our innards in the most violent ways
a challenge of dedication
the realest of love's declarations.

It was not in the feelings tugging at our stomachs
or the dreams we thought we dreamed

Love is coffee in the earliest of mornings,
Love is in the ending of sleep
and the joy of waking.