She asked me if I could see you one more time, what would I do?
and I don't know if I would have done anything.
Other than move things around the house
to hear heavy footsteps
and the occasional grumble.
maybe put on a bit of AC/DC to see that head bobble
or even shift shoes around just to hear your frustration.
cause god would I love to hear you laugh

hear what you thought about today anyways
and exasperatedly sigh into the phone
and hang up with okays and call again 5 minutes later
cause only we got that it didn't matter

she asked me what I would do
and I probably would hug you
to remind you are not alone

before winding down with a scotch
talking into the wee hours
to hear every single thought
and know why you set your tools that way

so I could keep it
and explain the same to my own kids
someday

he felt like springtime
and a cup of coffee
it was really bad coffee
but he always offered to make me some
and maybe that’s the best thing
budding friendships
in the springtime rain

few things are more finite
than the terror
whisperered across your cheek
telling you
‘you are not good enough’
and believing such a fallacy
could even be true

love when the colours start actually working together
and as she snuggles herself closer
maybe to protect
maybe to watch
and the easel unfolds
and songs are repeated
as the creative starts to come out of her shell

when whiskey sours sit empty
and oblivion starts to creep in
tucked along the strewn sheets
maybe you’ll taste me there

flipping through pages
wondering if I lost the time
wandering around
looking for mine

watching through windows
working at waiting
will he really see me?
would he even find
a whisper of me
along the wet gravel lines
willfully — agonizingly
waiting for me?