I wish I could dance with you
in this whirl of gold-framed leaves
and the cold stones under our toes
would begin to bloom,
our breath becoming one.
I wish I could sing you
this song I love so much
your eyes would fall
and I would carry them in my palms,
knowing that they are the most precious thing
I ever held.
I wish I could wave you goodbye
behind this greasy train-window pane
knowing, that I would see you again,
in a week or two.
I wish I could watch you sleep
and caress your beautiful face with my gaze
and fingers
the freckles I love so dearly
and the melody of your blood.
I wish I could see you waking up
every mornig till April
seven pm; the sun is rising
and I would welcome the warm golden stream
your eyes sent me
when I last saw you.
You don’t know how much I wish
to listen to your voice
how it breaks, when you’re desperate
and how it gleams, when you’re happy.
I wish you’d know
that I write you this poem,
that I wrote you so many times;
the letters my hands, reaching out for yours,
the capitals my longing
and the periods my resignation.
I wish you’d know
that I thought of you,
every day since August.
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Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock
Photo: wikimedia
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