A Fearless Inventory

A Fearless Inventory

Laying on top of her back
it was in moments like these
that I am terrified. Those sharp
beating steps of my heart thumping
at her shoulder blade. My lips
are a softer flesh, like any flesh
demanding friction.

I am terrified of telling
someone over the phone that
I will not come and see you because
it is not convenient for me, and no
matter how much I tell you I still
like you I can't bring myself to
walk a third of a mile to make you smile.

I will decline to explain to my roommate
or to anyone else that the sickness that
was given to me is terrifying, or that
it rots me from the inside like termites
and eventually I will be nothing if I
cannot control myself.

I am terrified that "She" will fail,
that no one cares about she, or her,
and although I never say the names
of you in my work, you will be lost
forever in encrypted layers of data
attached to a five year old computer.

If my memory and knowledge are my
most important things, then I am
terrified of losing them. A sickness,
this Alzheimer's or dementia, I am
losing my mind considering it.