I'm riding my bike home repeating the
words you said about the branches
and the clear blue skies and how
the trees are blooming now with
these soft little leaves that give
depth to something that once
looked so tangled--

I've just spent the last hour
runnin' my house key through
the grooves of that old tree on the
river walk, pulling up your name
in my inbox and scrolling through
all the things you said last
it's not a waste of my time, but it is to you
I won't fight you if you think that's what you need to do for yourself.

On the way back from Pueblo, I vividly recalled the
shadow of your lips, the way you cupped your palm
around my neck, took hold of the ringlets at my
nape and stroked my hair the way I have to
tell people to.

i wonder about my penchant for dramatics
for the phrase distance makes the heart grow fonder
how I haven't wanted children but for a split second
I saw your face at the end of an aisle,
I think about if it's right, then don't worry
if it's meant to be, it'll happen
but I never asked you to wait
and I don't think I could--
what if I come out
on the other side
of the world?