The Rest Of What I Was Meaning To Say Back At Home

I was always afraid to watch you leave.

I knew there would be a gesture,

Possibly grandiose, or bland,

In which you rest upon my cheek

Your delicate hand.

In no possible measure

Were our sighs and locks of hair

Ever put to rest. We froze

Apart, thinning into autumn's air,

Having only glanced the face

Of a violet rose. So from where

Did we choose to pursue

The roads of Indiana, the carts

Of a Boston avenue?

At what spark of a kiss,

Or from which vast, looking point

Did we choose to settle down there?

When out of fear,

We let apart our tender hold,

And let crack the dam of doubt,

And let uncertainties unfold

Into where you stand from me now.

Springs and valleys apart.

Where we smile, somehow.

Where we watch nights compress.

Where we see aging birds.

Where we see sunflowers mourning.

Where we watch a storm of words.

Where you feather like some white swan,

Where I stand on only one foot.

Sorry, I got carried away by a cloud.

I meant to say earlier

That it was painful to watch you leave.

There. I just gave myself away to you.

You're free to rip my heart,

Lay on my shoulder, just think of me.