What if when the dust finally settles
And the tides have stopped
Crashing against the shore
And the winds sit still on tree tops
All that remains of you are your hands
Riddled with scars from words
You have written for me
And I am gone.
You sit there for the rest of time
Staring at constellations of scars
On your skin that spells out all of the
Things you wrote about me
And over the ages my face will blur to you
My hair will stop looking to you
Like wheat fields and slowly it
Will look more like a sonnet
My eyes you will remember to be blue
But they will look to you like the third
Ripple of ocean water from a stone
What if when the dust finally settles
You ended up changing your mind
And all that remains of you are your hands
Still scared but you can’t tell
Not when my hands are covering them up.