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