You’re my rock

but I’m in a hard place

Gandhi never said

that quote

about the world

that’s

tattooed on your arm

I have watched you

ferment:

turned to

a different kind

of sweet

One that

has

quenched the thirst

of dying men

But I have forgotten

what it is like

to die,

how naked

every cell feels

Maybe

I’m here

for when

you feel like

water

You are sobriety

and relapse;

you are the wagon

and the one

who pushes me

off of it.