Poem on a Gum Wrapper

It happened again, though sooner than I expected, and more terrifying, the thought that it would all be over soon, but I was so happy—elated is the right word, yet euphoric is better, that I forgot to be sad.

My parents were in this reality, somewhere off in space, and we clamored up the stairs to my bedroom, the one I awoke in at five, and there was a desperate hysteria in our movements, giggling dementedly like lunatics who had been given a temporary reprieve from the madhouse.

I saw your face and knew you immediately, and we spoke, I admit briefly, and none of our conversation committed itself to my memory, perhaps not yours either, and you clung to me and my hot chest and I was afraid of nothing and loved no one else.

We kissed once more, this time in darkness—my eyes were closed, I closed them—and it was long and wet and agonizing, still not long enough, and I was scared that you wouldn't understand, or that this would be the last time.