in the not-knowing.

maybe i’ll never know
what it’s like to hold your hand on our way to class in the morning–
to say good-bye and see you tonight? and part ways before Evans,
but sneak a last glimpse of you over my shoulder across Memorial Glade.

maybe i’ll never know
what it’s like when both our addresses list the same city, when
you’re just a twenty-minute walk, or maybe
a ten-minute drive, or maybe
just a handful of blocks away, or some
similar geographical description…

maybe i’ll never know
what it’s like to love a man
just as entwined with a city full of my years loving,
with storied paths and storied pasts that
interweave and intersect and interplay with mine

maybe i’ll never know
what you’re like as a quotidian pedestrian of my life,
but maybe then i never want to know:
maybe then i’ll never ever know
what it’s like to assume you’ll be over later
or that no worries–we’ll have time this weekend, of course
or obviously you should’ve known
i’d want to see you during the break in my day where are you—

maybe then i’ll never know
anything except that you love me
`                   strong and still and ever
maybe then i’ll never know
anything except that you want me
`                   now and then and ever
maybe then, i’ll never know
anything–except that you are for me
`                   and your heart will hold me forever

but i never was a local soul.

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About xkawai

I write to find out what I'm thinking.
This entry was posted in pennies, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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