“Will you ever write about me in one of your poems?”
I shrugged and laughed and told you probably not and to watch the road instead of staring at me
you grabbed my hand and kissed it, told me you loved me
something took hold of my throat and squeezed, making me gasp for air at the tenderness in your voice
sometimes the way you drove terrified me and excited me all at the same time;
the only thing lighting the road ahead of us was the moon -making it look like a winding black ribbon in front of us
we stopped when we came to a waterfall, made love on a park bench beside it – whispering things to each other in the dark
it was beautiful
you were beautiful
naked and barefoot, your skin shining bright white beneath the lunar glow
you came back with a handful of blackberries (plus a few battle wounds) and fed them to me before you kissed me
I wish we could have stayed there forever.
Naked, in the dark.
Whispering so as not to disturb the trees, eating wicked berries and loving each other.
If I had known it was going to be the last time I would kiss you
or the last time I’d feel your skin against mine
or your breath in my ear
or your hands holding me together in one piece
If I had known it would be the last time you would tell me you loved me, I would have said so much before I destroyed it all.
I would have said to you – to never let me go. That you were the only thing holding me to the earth and the only thing I had done right in a long time. I would have told you that sometimes I ruin everything, and not to let me push you away. I would have told you to fight for me.
I would have told you how much I loved the trail of hair that ran from your belly button to your groin and that mole right at the bottom of your ribs. I would have told you how I loved looking at the line of your nose in the orange glow of my alarm clock late at night. And how sometimes I didn’t sleep, I would just lay there and hold your hand and listen to you breathe.
I would have told you how much I loved you, and how I would fall apart in your absence. And how I was sorry that sometimes I couldn’t say everything I needed too, and I would turn up my radio and sing instead.
And I would have told you the only way I would ever write about you, is if you were gone.