Your lips
Were the first thing I noticed
Gently parted
Breathing in and out

Oh to be your words
Conceived within your mind
Born upon your lips

Poetry.

Your lips are ******* poetry.

I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.

I had broken my promise
“I’ll write you every week.”
It’s been 3 years since every week
Became every other
Then every month
Then never.

When I saw a horse
With a brown coat
Speckled white
Like the one on your jacket
I knew never had to end.

So I wrote.
I wrote about everything
And about nothing
And all that came between.
I wrote about insignificant things
Things you wouldn’t remember
Things I can’t forget.

I wrote about our past
My present
And what might be in our future

I didn’t know you no longer had one.

I didn’t know that you were already gone
That life had been too much
And you mind had become a war zone
With every thought falling,
Dying one after the other
As though to some macabre rhythm.
I didn’t know you had stopped watching horses
In favor of watching trains.

I wonder if you were as beautiful
As you stood on the tracks
Arms thrown wide
As you were when I first saw you riding.

And now, as I look back
Over the year since I learned
Since I wrote
And I can’t help but wonder.
Would anything be different
If never hadn’t lasted quite so long?