The Rest

We are our worlds
Wrapped in skin and cellophane
Decorated cakes rising and falling,
Smoking candy cigarettes
In the crematorium.

But the words we choose
Are like surgical instruments
Picking, placing and replacing
Images and memories.

We hide because we see and misunderstand.

You are only who you are to me.
I am only what you’ve seen.
Not even shared memories
Are congruent painted concrete.

Yet your arm touched mine
And we both remained
No look exchanged
No expected disdain
No uncomfortable refrain

Only this
So intimate

An authentic moment
To justify
The rest.