I want to touch every inch of his face.
I want to feel the smoothness of his skin,
And the prickle of his stubble, and the
Cracks and swollen flesh of his lips.

I almost lost him that day.
Truthfully, he's not mine to lose
(Though as the girlfriend's best friend I claim some ownership).

I heard about the bombs hours
After they went off.
Merciful Universe, the death toll
Was low but there-
A bold triangulating number
Pounded into the hearts and heads of Bostonians.

Of course I thought it was him,
He who shied away from violence and
He who protested quarrels and
He who provided everything for his girl,
His love.

He stood on the street where the explosions occurred.

The shockwaves penetrated his being
As they did to every other living creature
Who happened to line the streets
The day of the marathon,
And like a child in a riptide he struggled
Into the stream of oncoming people,
Each of them hurrying to get away
While he hurried to get in,
Looking for his friends.

They pulled scraps of metal from his arm.
The scarring will mar his freckled skin forever,
An even more pallid tone to his pale complexion.

I want to cry, but I stay strong.