And if you do, know that I did think about our could have been's. The conversations that would have created, deep-rooted storms inside of me. Intrigued by the glimmer in your eyes and the way your bones seemed to be pages full of stories. How I would have loved to read them, explore the meaning of words with my wildfire touch. Fingertips trailing down, tracing lines, writing songs along the curve of your spine.
And if you do, too, maybe one day we shall find a way to write them down. These will be's, as they are now. Crafting a universe, just us, you and I.
And if you never do. I hope you are well. Speaking in chapters with people worth your time. I am glad you found magic in their minds and a challenge in their smiles.
All that I want, and think that would be best to be, right now, is out in front of me. Presented here within these words, which I crafted deep from within. And to say that I in some way, am too much for you right now. That is cowardice towards what ere could be. So don't claim to know what a word really means, when you want to craft alongside a wordsmith like me.
He wanted it to be perfect, for the words to fit together like a well-oiled… scratch that… he’d heard that some Muslim women (in Turkey or were they Moors?) purposely wove a mistake into their intricate tapestries because only God is perfect and they were right of course, but he felt perfect just now sitting still, warm in a buck-fifty’s worth of sunshine.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. Acknowledgement is made to Valley Micropress in which this poem first appeared in Volume 12, Issue #7, September 2009. Also appears in my poetry collection, "Clawed Rains".