I am not traumatized enough
to be okay with this,
or at least not traumatized in a way
that would be useful.
My one advantage
is that most of my loved ones
are already dead so I don’t
have to worry about them.

We’ve been broken by crisis before.
Our first date was a funeral
Our third date was a funeral
Our tenth date was a funeral
until there was no one left to grieve
and we collapsed under the weight
of all those bodies.

Now, eight years later
the world is ending
and the joke’s on us.
After almost a decade of
negotiating terms, demanding space,
we have never spent
so much time together.
We find our own ways of coping.
I drink too much wine,
make a 5 hour bolognese
you write porn and order us
presents off of Ebay,
cans of Funfetti frosting,
a box of 10,000 Magic cards.

You stay up all night
but come to bed with me
watch TV until I fall asleep,
a documentary about the planets
that won’t distract me, keep me up.
I don’t know how many nights
I’ve slept in this bed
alone and will again,
but for now I drift off
with your hand on my back
listening to a voice describe Saturn
where lightning storms transform
carbon into diamonds that fall like rain,
an incomprehensibly beautiful place
that no one has ever been.