soul salvation

She sees no future,
while I run from the past,
and late night,
to morning,
we try to make it last --
this love
that has climbed
centuries of stairs,
becoming rarified airs,
folding comfortably
into our pockets
but still able to make our heads spin,
taking off like a rocket,
swiveling us back
and forth,
setting us in tightly,
like a bulb
in a socket --
we live in today
since tomorrow
holds little sway
for the afflicted:
we two, constricted
by our diseases
doing whatever
right now,
as the Future
sits in a far corner of the room,
and laughs at us
as we face our doom;
death, as love,
will be our liberation
and its reverberation
our legacy,
She to me,
and I to her,
soul salvation.

April 17, 2010, for the Wifey.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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