by Leah Makuch
(06/18/2003)

Sometimes you would play dead for me.
Mouth agape, tongue over bottom teeth, palms exposed
in silent supplication.
I loved the stillness of your flesh,
your rigid immobility until the end
when only your eyelids quivered.

I imagined the faint blue tinge of your cheeks
Your shallow breath the only clue
that we were just pretending.

You lie beneath me on the shore,
petal-soft and motionless,
tendrils of wet hair limp over gray lips that don't breathe
the strands away.

Press palms against your heart and feel
stillness
that I've always imagined
but never wanted.

I wish it weren't so perfect.

My quiet sobs the only sound
except the rasp of zipper.

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