Heaven

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Heaven


If your relationship with me were just 

a ticket to pass you into where you wanted

to be, like I were the bouncer 

you approached and chatted up, eyes flitting

always over my shoulder into the inner 

room of the exclusive night club,  

I would not say that I knew you. 


And if you were a bit more savvy, 

for weeks or even years returning to ask me 

about my family, tell me the latest of 

yours, before you deemed the time was ripe 

for saying “well, then,” pushing in 

past me to receive your great reward, 

I would still not stamp you as one 

of my own. For that I would need to be 

the end of both your labors

and festivities, my eyes your flashing lights,

my name in your mouth the only

cup to carry you to the dawn, beyond it.


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