Pile of, If’s

Pile of, If’s

If I’d never sat on your knee,

or felt your skin

smooth under the heat of my lips–

as your pulse thrummed

an exotic rhythm,

keeping me alive

through long lonely days

and cold black nights…


If I’d never slept in your bed,

or drifted my fingers

over the expanse of flatness

before your hardness

that

you graciously

entrusted to me…

 

If I never inhaled your breath

from the warmth of your pillow,

our hair a tangled mess

in the darkness,

as we lay

wrapped together

under the softness of flannel

daring daylight to find us…

 

If we’d remained friends.

Friends only.

Would your name still be as sweet

on my tongue as it is to this day.

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