It seems things are always adieu.
If not today sometime tomorrow.
Maybe nature gives us the clue.
The wherefores contained in sorrow.
Take the worm. Cut it in two.
The half with the brain will grow into
another worm that will squirm anew
while the other half will be through.
A likely story. I’m ninety-two.
Wrinkling up even my tattoo.
O for those days awfully alive.
The art of living to survive.
Of the moment but no momentum.
I carried on unaware of the other.
Still life threatened the tedium
of a sister or a brother.
I wrinkled into the future.
Raw flesh cauterized.
My better half demanded a New Year.
Inside or out I despised.
Yes my faults aren’t in my rocks.
I can feel inside me my sister,
All categories are at a loss.
Cut me in two. I’m only a blister.
Fact is Sis will never live.
She was born stillbirth.
I am gay as life can give.
No matter I am of worth.