Suicide

She and I
walk
through a park,
holding hands.
She used to
work here
in the summer
as a kid.
She tells me
it was
quite a popular site
for suicide;
every year
they would
find someone
hanging
from the rafters
of a shelter.
We talk about
the horror
of it all,
and then stand
by a stream.
I look over
at her:
blonde hair,
green eyes,
her face
fresh
and alive.
I lean over
and kiss her lips
as long
and as hard
as I can.