tender

tender,

those moments i picture you in the room

the green striped shirt

the white tank top

the beige khakis.

you smile,

and only one cheek lifts.

the hole that it forms -oh

i can see the whole life we could have had in that dimple.

i wish

i were a poet

so i could put words

on how you almost made me feel.

tender,

those nights when you sleep

and i stroke the memory of your arm.

the pillow still holds the shape of your head, you know?

you dream,

and your lips mumble something.

something lovely

something eerie

something already gone.

i wish

i were an artist

so i could put color

on the words you almost said to me.

tender,

those memories we’ll never make.

the ones of fights in yellow kitchens

and the make-ups on crowded streets.

the ones in blue suburbans

driving down the coast.

the ones on pebble beaches

scraping your knee.

the ones of sunsets

stretching into sunrises.

the ones in white dresses

and your breath on my neck.

i wish

i were a composer

so i could put to music

the steps we almost took together.

tender,

tender,

tender,

we will always be.