Poem: For Now

We watched the lightning show from my bedroom window,
carmine and hibiscus dancing behind charcoal clouds,
angelic hallelujah light. I scolded you
for being on your phone, but you were curious
about gas excitation and electrons so,
in retrospect, that was probably okay.
Apparently lightning is five times hotter
than the sun, and Zeus is married to Hera,
the goddess of childbirth and woman,
and you always told me not to play with fire,
but my soul is branded with yours.
If I told you I missed you, you wouldn’t believe
me, because we live in the same house again.
But nothing is the same, not since you called
crying in January to tell me the doctor told you
you were not going to die.