The hourglass sand is endless
with the way you flip me over.
I don’t want a happy ending
because I never want an ending,

so I too keep turning you.
If, in some stringy timeline, you break your promise
and die first, I have all the materials to rebuild you.
Little notes, poems, amber, and belly button lint.

I may, one day, need you to invade
someone’s yard again, because I need to know
if their flowers are of ancestry
like your mauve eyes or genetically closer to your wit.

Who knew when I first said I’m obsessed with you
it would become a cure for my inevitable
symptomatic future. Draw little circles
on the back of my hand

I cannot stand the loss of your warmth.
The experience of you is too big
for one body and it’s hard to believe death will limit us
when dying has not.