I Shouldn’t
July 23, 2014
~
I shouldn’t be here,
listening to you breathe,
feeling you shift in bed,
dreaming of a never time,
speaking words best left unsaid.
~
I shouldn’t be here,
sipping your strong coffee,
sharing your buttered toast,
talking of the news,
and laughing at your jokes.
~
I shouldn’t be here,
smelling your earthy scent,
touching the back of your neck in the morning light,
nor kissing you in the dimming incandescent night.
~
I shouldn’t be here,
sitting on your front porch,
tending to your sun baked ferns,
reading your sincerely written words,
nor thinking of touch, for which I yearn.
~
I should leave.
Sharing time is weaving
more weft through steady warp.
To loosen make believe
and slow connecting skin,
this binding we need thwart.
~
If I leave
will you remember me?
Will you see my face in a crowd,
walking,
only to see it disappear?
Will you see my head thrown back with eyes
laughing,
only to remember my tears?
~
If I leave,
will you remember my finger tips
touching the crook of your arm?
Will you miss them dear?
Will you long for tousled hair?
Will thoughts of a life without me
bring you any fear?
~
Tell me please
before I leave
that you will miss me so.
Tell me please
before I leave
that you don’t want me to go.
~
~
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