You won’t get that chance will you?
To see me with your child
as we rock and sing together in our wonder.

You with your fuckable face;
you won’t get to watch me undress
and caress a breast tender from so little rest.

What?
Took it too far?
Couldn’t settle for less?

Had to imagine a future:
you and I hand in hand
walking together backs to whipping winds of time

It wasn’t a big deal to you or to anyone else.
Why is it me that always feels each slash the deepest?
I gave myself so readily,
and you in bliss accepted with out consequence.

Just another one to pack away,
a fun time had by all did you suppose?
And here, I thought that you were right there with me,
all the way we would go.

I held back for so long, content in my isolation.
Cast away, I sat weaving my own love in head and out.
It would have been fine to remain friends, and I kissed you only to question,
not to reply.

Yet, your intensity threatened the state of my sanity.
I leaned back surprised, and I should have left.
I was enthralled, and allowed myself to imagine.

Why not a little less force?
You could have let me imagine your passive self
solid in your fickle fascination of my righteousness.

I orbited you but it was too much pressure for an atmosphere of such density.
I knew better, I did!
Or I should have known, you, stuck in your juvenilia, had the power to damage me. Instead, I laid down my chains, as you slipped me out of my armor.
I left my island, just to collapse on your shores.
Ending my exile, so you could reply, “that’s cool”.
I still imagine you with me, even though I wish you could vanish from my sight.
I still wonder: could you have been some progress for me,
some destination that I was actually happy to get to?

You wouldn’t have made it.
I would have waited by that train, plane, and phone
for longer than I was allotted to be.

You could have punched my ticket, but something would have made you miss the trip;
I would have been different by the time you clicked back to me.
Still, you’d murmur love songs in an ear deaf from the reverb of each unkempt whisper. Still, to you I run (legs freshly shaven)
as fast as my best shoes could take me.

Why?
Why can’t I turn to myself and whisper sweet nothings instead?
I could love the parts that existed without you.

That wouldn’t be hard I guess after one terrific date.
Brush long enough to erase the taste of your tongue against the tips of my teeth.
Scrub hard enough that my skin will flinch
from your roving touch, instead of wishing
for your finger to continue to linger.

I could do that.
REALLY!
I could.

Silence myself
so I wouldn’t have to hear you
speak my name with such carefree abandon.
I wouldn’t have to stop you, arms flailing and screaming:
LISTEN UP!!!
Do you understand what I could have been for you?
For you, to me I speak instead.
Pick up, PLEASE PICK UP…