I found you in the bathtub.
Your hair, full of knots, was floating around your face,
encircling it like a frame,
as if you were of some importance.

I pulled you out.
Your skin was cold and white,
and so transparent
that I was scared of tearing it away from your bones.

I picked up the phone
and dialed the numbers I thought I knew so well.
But my fingers were wet
and they kept slipping off the buttons.

I pressed my ear against your mouth.
You weren’t breathing.
I didn’t know the recipe for CPR,
so I dragged you into the driveway.

Your body was heavy.
Maybe it was the water in your lungs.
And I wasn’t quite sure what to do
with a corpse as vulnerable as yours.

We lay on the concrete
and the flash of the ambulance lights
looked so pretty against your face.
Like a scene from my favourite nightmare.

So I sat next to you,
just me and your dead body.
And then I realised;
This is love.