By Ruthie Voth

some days
I’m grateful to you
for loving me.

apart from you
(I’m almost positive that)
no one would ever look at me
with desire,
humor my sense of novelty,
willingly wander down
the rabbit trail of words that
I bring to our late night talks.

only you would kiss me
in the car
in the parking lot
at the Motel 6
while we wait for the rain to slow
enough for the wipers to clear the glass…
then brave the wind and the mud
for two scoops of Baseball Nut
(which I feed to you as we drive
down forever roads)

not a super nova romance,
flaring brightly, gone in a moment,
we are a river… swirled together with strong currents
and dull, lazy stills…
lasting, long and long
and narrowing down
until one day
when I look up and realize that
it’s just lonely me
between two barren shores,
(they are) empty from the loss of you.

don’t leave me.