POEM: "Everything Is Dying, Nothing Is Dead"

Everything Is Dying, Nothing Is Dead

It’s a bright October morning

inside my annihilation

                        and that song, the one hooked

in my ear like an heirloom loop, nears

the verse that always obliterates me

back into innocence

                                    while he hums

in the shower, rinsing last night

into the drain, as I rise to open a window

only to realize

                        he’s opened one for me already:

the autumn air has always been here,

lacing our every breath

            and I love the man who knows I love

the sweet-smoke smell of approaching death.