‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ Really? We’re not so sure about that. We’ve buried folks who taffied our hearts, then left us. Felt our little lungs breathe new and full, then collapse during the repast. We’ve loved until it hurt. Losing someone makes love a knife, dirty and rusty. Blood on its tip. Our blood. Remembering how we used to laugh together/ our blood. The time we went to McDonalds and you ordered nothing but fries but we ate them together/ our blood. Your smile/our blood. That final rose I tossed on your casket/our blood. Today we’ll eat each chocolate in the heart-shaped box searching for sweetness. Nothing tastes right. The faces of those who are trying to love us will dissolve into the silhouette of the one we lost. Satisfaction eludes us. Maybe (just maybe) it’s better to love knowing loss is coming. Our savor game is serious. Even if we don’t drink, we know the sanctity of the best Chablis. The night we watched a movie that made us both cry/best Chablis How I fought the uncaring nurse, insisting she move you to a warmer room/best Chablis We live with this and know: Nothing good lasts forever and even the finest chocolate melts then dies on our tongues.