After the funeral
we could’ve fucked
but she decided
that it felt a little weird
and I figured there would be another time.

I was wrong.
There was no next time.
It should have been obvious:
in that moment,
facing death,
we needed to experience life
more than any other time.
If we couldn’t find the momentum
to know each other then
there would be no other time.

We talked about it
later
but the opportunity
never again appeared.
It had simply withered
before our love could ever bloom.