Love Is

Love Is
Jonathan Moya

The thing that 
survives the scalpel 
and the decay,
lodges in the cells 
after the anesthesia
wears off  
and the pain arises,
the brain fog dissipates
and the reality 
of thought, blood and breath,
congeals into the 
rhythmic tapping 
of other fingers 
drumming your palm 
until you awaken.